


Blackthorne

by orphan_account



Category: Covington Cross
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he loses his horse just before a race, Richard Grey is offered a replacement by a stranger chance-met on the road. Unable to return his gift horse, accused by Armus of riding a ghost or demon for his new mount's speed and unusual appearance, Richard starts out on the road towards finding his own place in life.</p><p>Warning: Some poetic license taken with history to make the Grey siblings happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chance-Met on the Road

**Author's Note:**

> This was written about ten years ago, and I guess a decade less experience in writing shows. Still I decided to leave it as it is rather than editing it before uploading. This is how it was written, and this is how I'll keep it.

Tossing his head impatiently, the dark brown stallion tried to force his rider to loosen his grip on the reins. Trotting through the forest was not to his liking.

"Easy, boy, easy!" the young man on his back muttered. "You'll be running soon enough, trust me."

He shook his head as he glanced at the sun. He risked being late if he didn't allow his horse to go any faster. On the other hand, appearing at the race with his horse already tired from the ride there was not a good idea. Especially not considering whom he would be riding against today.

Carefully he recalled the boys and men that would probably enter the race, and the horses they would ride. His body easily controlled his restless stallion while his mind wandered. He knew he had every chance of winning the race if only he could arrive in time without exhausting his horse. There was only one opponent he had to fear, really. The real race would be between him and--

Suddenly, his horse seemed to disappear from under him. The young man found himself flying through the air. By the time he realized what had happened, he was lying flat on his back, looking up into the trees.

Chuckling at himself, he got up again, brushing dirt off his clothes. It must have been years since the last time a horse had dumped him. His shoulder hurt a little where it had hit a rock, but it would be all right. All he had to do was catch his horse. He would have to let it run a little after all, to make up for the time he was losing right now.

He was rather surprised when he turned around and saw his horse standing there, not far away from him. It was not the kind of faithful animal that would stay with his rider if it lost him. So what was it doing only a few steps off the road?

Walking over to the horse swiftly, he grabbed for the reins to lead the animal back onto the road.

The man groaned when the stallion stepped out of the underbrush. He was limping on three legs, his right foreleg useless.

So much for riding a race today...

"Problems?"

He jumped at the sound of a sneering voice. Slowly, he turned to look at the newcomer.

Another man was standing in the road, dressed in pants and a shirt that was far too big for him and made of the rough, durable cloth worn by those who actually did physical work aside from riding, hunting and fighting. He was tall and slim, his black hair cropped short. The fallen rider couldn't help noticing that his eyes had the deepest blue color possible. He appeared to be about his own age, or maybe a year or two older. The dagger he carried in his belt was a bit too long, not quite a sword, but too long to be decent for a peasant.

He bent to examine his stallion's injured leg. "Yeah," he admitted. "My horse broke his leg, I fear. Must've stepped into some burrow..."

"Must've," the stranger repeated calmly. "You going somewhere special, with your head in the clouds like that?"

The young man didn't look up. He could feel he was blushing. Had he been watched?

"I was on my way to the race," he answered, unable to think of any smart reply. 

"As a participant or a spectator?" the other one shot back. Slowly, he came over and knelt beside him. "Somehow, I don't think this horse is going to participate in any race today."

The horse's owner shook his head. "Or ever again," he said, rising. "So Mullens' rider will doubtless win, and we'll never hear the end of this." He stroked his horse's head with one hand, reaching for his dagger with the other. He would make it quick, but he hated to lose a good horse like that. Maybe it really was his fault for not watching the road...

"Wait!" the man interrupted him harshly. "What did you just say?"

The first man turned around, his hand still on the hilt of his dagger. "I said John Mullens' man will win the race, and we'll never hear the end of this," he repeated, slightly shocked by how cold those eyes now looked.

"And you are..?" the other one went on as if he had not been interested in what had been said at all.

"Richard Grey," the young man answered, nervously pulling his hand through the curls of his dark blond hair. "Of Covington."

The stranger gave a sharp whistle before answering. "You will ride your race, Richard Grey of Covington. You will ride your race, and you will win." It sounded like a promise.

Richard snorted. "Unlikely, without a horse," he replied, just as the man's whistle was answered by a large shape bursting through the bushes and onto the road.

The man caught the big animal easily, his hand gripping the reins only loosely when he led it over to where Richard still stood. It followed him willingly.

Richard's eyes grew huge. No one dressed in peasant's clothes should by any rights own a horse like that, he thought. The stallion was about the size of his own mount, cream-colored fur shining like liquid gold in the sun, black mane falling over his neck, and his tail almost touching the ground. His saddle and bridle were plain, but a horse like that definitely did not need any elaborate tack to draw attention to it. "Where did you get that horse?" Richard blurted out, while he watched the stranger whisper something to the horse.

Blue eyes stared coldly into green ones. The stranger's voice was icy, anger barely suppressed in it. "I didn't steal him, if that's what you're implying."

Richard backed away a step. For a moment it had felt as if the man's rage could kill.

When the man spoke again, his voice was almost friendly. "His name is Darkmoon. Trust me, he's the fastest horse in this Shire. Take him."

"I can't..." Richard answered weakly, still unable to take his eyes of the animal.

The stranger held the reins out to him. "Of course you can. Win that race, Richard of Covington!" His voice sounded like he would not accept no for an answer.

Hesitating, Richard reached out for the reins. "I'll be too late," he said.

"He'll run all the way there and be fresh enough for the race," the stranger promised. "Just let him pick his own speed."

"Lancelot..." Richard looked at his own stallion again.

The stranger shook his head and pushed the reins into Richard's hands. "I'll care for him. Go now, hurry! You have a race to win!" He held the golden stallion's head while he mounted.

"I'll return him to you after the race." Richard promised.

"I dare doubt that," the other one shot back, slapping the horse's rump.

The horse jumped forward and set off down the road at a fast pace. Looking back over his shoulder, Richard just saw the man picking up Lancelot's reins and leading the limping horse away before he turned his attention to the road in front of him. He would not risk losing a second horse today.

 

Richard entered the area around the race track at a brisk trot. Surprisingly enough, his mount seemed to be rather fresh. He was inclined to believe that he was indeed riding the fastest horse in the Shire.

Eleanor, Cedric and Armus came running towards him. They had been to the market earlier that day, looking for a proper birthday present for their father, and come straight to the race from there.

Reining in his horse, Richard braced himself for the unavoidable questions.

"What took you so long?" Cedric yelled at him as soon as he got within hearing distance.

"Where did you get that HORSE?" Eleanor followed suit.

Armus just looked at him disapprovingly.

Leaning on his pommel, Richard waited for them to come closer before answering. "I had an accident in the forest," he admitted. "Lancelot stepped into a burrow, broke a leg – A stranger happened to be passing by, and insisted I take his horse for the race."

Cedric and Armus looked at each other, then at Richard, unbelieving. "You're saying, a stranger came out of nowhere and gave you THAT horse?" his older brother asked.

"Yes." Richard nodded, trying to sound as if he thought it completely natural. "I'm still in time for the race, am I?"

Cedric nodded mutely. Richard picked up the reins and guided his horse over to where the other participants waited.

John Mullens stood there, talking animatedly to the man riding one of his black coursers.

He glanced at Richard. "What a pity," he sneered. "I already thought you'd gotten lost on the way here."

"Good day to you, too, Baron," Richard replied calmly.

Mullens, just about to give the young Grey a long, scathing look, froze. "Where did you steal that horse?" He asked, his voice rising dangerously. His face paled.

"He was not stolen," Richard said, carefully enunciating every word and putting special emphasis on the word "not". He remembered hearing a similar sentence from the stallion's owner, and couldn't help but wonder if it was true.

 

Riding Darkmoon was like flying. Richard had thought he had tasted the horse's speed on the way here, but as soon as the race started, he realized that the stallion had hardly exerted himself. Now, his hooves hardly seemed to touch the ground.

Mullens' man bravely tried to keep up with him, but the attempt was doomed to fail. Richard grudgingly admitted that Lancelot might have lost the race to Mullens' horse. Darkmoon, however, outraced it easily.

Eleanor and Cedric waited for him, cheering.

Sweat darkened the stallion's golden fur, and Richard slid out of the saddle and started leading his horse back and forth across the place to allow him to cool off slowly. His brother and sister followed, and he finally found the time to tell them about his encounter in the forest.

Then, John Mullens stepped into their path.

"Richard Grey," he said, his voice almost friendly.

Richard gave an acknowledging nod. "Baron Mullens."

"How much?" Mullens said without further ado.

"Excuse me?" Richard forced a puzzled look onto his face. Of course he knew what Mullens was talking about, but he preferred not to show it.

The Baron sighed. "I would like to buy your hose," he elaborated. "How much do you want for it?"

Richard shook his head. "I am sorry, Baron." he said in a neutral tone. "He is not for sale."

"You don't know what kind of chance you're denying yourself, boy!" Mullens answered, a hint of his usual sneer creeping back into his voice.

"I think I do," Richard answered, still smiling at Mullens. "This horse is not for sale."

Mullens whirled around, his cloak swirling around him, and stormed off, but not before the Greys had noticed the look of uncontrolled rage in his eyes. Richard shuddered. He had already seen a very similar look once before this afternoon, in another face...

He shook the thought off. "I have to return Darkmoon," he told his siblings. "The sooner, the better."

 

"Are you sure you met him here?" Eleanor asked impatiently.

Richard nodded. "Yes!" He confirmed, pointing at something with his hand. "That's where Lancelot tripped."

They had spent far too much time searching the forest for the man who had given him his horse for the race, but found no trace of him, or Lancelot. Richard had hoped Darkmoon would find his own way home, but had obviously been mistaken. He remembered the stranger's last words, after he had promised to return the stallion to him.

"I dare doubt it," he mumbled.

"What?" Cedric asked curiously. Once again, the youngest Grey looked like he would topple off his horse any moment.

"I dare doubt it," Richard repeated. "That's that he said when I told him I'd bring the horse back."

"So maybe he doesn't want to be found." Eleanor suggested.

"So maybe he stole the horse after all," Armus threw in.

"He didn't look like a horse-thief!" Richard argued.

Armus looked at his younger brother. "And how many horse thieves do you know, to be such an expert concerning their looks?"

Richard shook his head. "It was the way he handled him. It was like... like they'd known each other for a long time. That's not how a horse thief handles a stolen horse!"

"Yes..." Cedric said slowly. "He probably raised and trained him himself."

Richard looked surprised, as if his brother had just offered the perfect solution. "Yes." he said. "That might be it."

"Brother," Armus laughed. "That is not only highly improbable, but also--"

Eleanor cut him off. "Armus, you're not helping!"

Armus raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "All right, all right. He obviously wanted Richard to have that horse, so why waste the rest of the day looking for him? I say, keep him, and let's return home!"

Eleanor and Cedric seemed rather taken to that suggestion. Richard could only give in. "All right," he said wearily. "But now I'm feeling like a horse thief!"

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	2. A Thing of the Past

"Where have you been?" Sir Thomas greeted his children when they entered the great hall. He was sitting at the table, occupying himself with some ledgers.  "Been celebrating Richard's victory? You did win the race, didn't you?" He looked doubtfully at his second son, who didn't seem very cheerful at all.

Richard nodded. "I won the race," he confirmed. "But I lost Lancelot."

Thomas' eyes grew wide. "What do you mean, you lost Lancelot?" he asked. "That horse is a bit too big to misplace him, don't you think?"

"I didn't misplace him!" Richard defended himself. "He broke a leg..."

"How did that happen?" Sir Thomas wanted to know.

Richard sighed. "It was on my way there. He--"

"On your way THERE?" His father interrupted him. "How did you win the race then? You didn't outrace all those horses on foot, did you?"

Shaking his head, Richard sat on a corner of the long table. "Of course not!" He said.

"A stranger came out of the forest and gave him a new horse," Armus threw in, his voice cool.

Sir Thomas looked first at him, then at Richard, as if he was trying to decide whether they were making fun of him.

"It's the most beautiful horse I've ever seen." Eleanor added. "And it won the race easily. We tried to return it, that' why we were so late..." she trailed off

"Where is this wonder-steed now?" Their father asked.

"In the stable, of course," Eleanor answered as if stating the obvious.

Sir Thomas got up. "Then let's go and have a look at it, shall we?" He waited for his children to lead the way out of the room.

 

On the way down to the stables, Richard related the story of how he had gotten his new horse. They had put Darkmoon in Lancelot's stall. Richard led the horse outside to present him to his father.

"Here he is!" the young man announced.

He had expected praise or an exclamation of surprise from his father. When Sir Thomas remained silent, Richard looked at him questioningly.

The lord of the castle stood in the courtyard motionlessly, staring at the stallion. In the light of the almost setting sun, the horse resembled liquid gold more than ever, but something in his father's expression told Richard that the animal's unusual beauty was not the reason for his reaction.

"Father?" he ventured carefully.

"I told you he'd stolen him!" Armus called out.

Sir Thomas silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I don't think so." He said. His voice was only a whisper. He moved around the horse to look at its brand. Slowly, he ran his hand over it. "This is a Blackthorne horse..." He sounded incredulous.

His children stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Lord Blackthorne used to live on the other side of Mullens' lands," Sir Thomas elaborated when he noticed their looks. "He bred these horses. They were known for their color, of course, but also for their speed and stamina."

Stroking the golden horse's nose, Richard said: "If this Blackthorne breeds these great horses, and is – or was – almost our neighbor, then why have I never heard of him before?"

His father sighed heavily. "This was long ago - Jonathan Blackthorne died before you were born, Richard. I've never seen a horse like that since."

"What happened?" Eleanor wanted to know. Her brothers were not so sure if they really wanted to be filled in on the details.

Sir Thomas drew a deep breath. "When I was a young man, and Armus only a baby, Jonathan Blackthorne was known as the breeder of the best war- and racing horses of the Shire. Some even said, of England. His best horses all had that same golden fur. He hardly ever sold one of them, and those he did sell were geldings. He never gave away a mare or stallion."

"So no one else would be able to breed golden horses." Armus explained unnecessarily.

"Of course." His father nodded. "I got one as a wedding gift. It certainly was the best horse I ever had. What I wouldn't've given for a stallion, though..."

Richard stopped stroking the horse's head for a moment. "You have one now, though." He said. "You can start your own golden breed now if you want."

"No, Richard," Sir Thomas replied. "He's yours, not mine. You're free to try your luck at it, though."

Eleanor and her brothers stared at him. They all had their favorite horses that they used to ride, but in the end, they all belonged to Sir Thomas. It was no problem for them, even though Cedric would now and again take Damascus or Lancelot, and, when Eleanor or Richard got angry, point out that 'you didn't buy him'.

"Lancelot was yours," Richard said. "I got Darkmoon to replace him. So he's yours as well."

Sir Thomas smiled at his son. "He was given to you. He's yours as truly as if you'd paid for him in gold."

That news took a while to sink in. Richard looked from his father to Darkmoon and back again. He almost didn't notice that his father went on telling his story.

"Baron Mullens – The old Baron, our John Mullens' father – wanted a golden horse for himself. Blackthorne used to say that he'd rather kill all his horses before he'd allow Mullens to lay hands on one. Believe it or not – the old Baron was worse than the one we have today."

"Mullens tried to buy Darkmoon after the race," Richard remembered. "I thought it was just because he'd won!"

"No." Thomas sounded very certain of what he was saying. "He recognized the horse as surely as I did. Richard, promise me something: If you ever need money badly enough to consider selling this steed, come to me. I'll pay as much for him as Mullens would. Don't let John Mullens have this horse!"

Richard resumed stroking the horse's muzzle. "I promise, father," he said, meeting Thomas' gaze. "John Mullens will never get Darkmoon – or any or his foals, if I can help it."

Thomas nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Now, Lord Jonathan was a wealthy Lord. He had a wife and two sisters who were living at his castle – at a time my father even considered engaging me to the older one of them. But then things came differently, and I married Anne. We were always on friendly terms with the Blackthornes, though.

"One day, Lord Jonathan's castle was raided, burnt down and every living soul inside killed. The official version was that bandits had surprised the watch and then run wild in the castle grounds. I don't think anyone ever actually believed it. More likely, someone had bribed the watch and sent a troop of men to take revenge on Lord Blackthorne for some wrong – real or imagined – done to him. From there, it doesn't take much to arrive at the conclusion that it was Baron Mullens who did it. It could never be proven, though. With the Lord and all possible heirs dead, the king gave most of Blackthorne's grounds to the Baron. A smaller portion was given to Lord Roland of Earlscastle. As for the horses..." Thomas' eyes rested on the golden stallion in front of Richard, "They were killed along with the people. Some suggested that the raiders had overdone their work, others claimed that Jonathan had been true to his threat of killing his own horses before allowing them to fall into Mullens' hands. In any case, that was the end of the golden racing horses." He looked at his children. Eleanor and Richard looked thoughtful. Armus had turned pale.

"You mean this horse is a ghost?" Thomas' oldest son asked, sounding almost frightened.

"Nonsense!" Richard disagreed. "That horse is no more a ghost than I am. Maybe some of those golden horses survived after all. Or Lord Blackthorne might have given away horses that had other colors, but their foals might still turn out golden. Darkmoon is NOT a ghost!"

"Richard is right," Sir Thomas said. "Since when do you believe in ghosts anyway, Armus?"

Armus did not look convinced. "What did that Lord Blackthorne look like? How old was he?"

Thomas' eyebrows rose. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. "He was a bit older than me at the time, around twenty seven, and had black hair and the most uncommon dark blue eyes. The Ladies just loved his eyes."

Armus made a victorious sound. "Guess how Richard described the man he met in the forest: A few years older than himself, with black hair and deep blue eyes!"

"Armus, he was NOT a ghost," his younger brother repeated. "He was as real as you and me!"

"Maybe it was a sorcerer who'd taken on Jonathan Blackthorne's shape," Armus suggested. "Who knows what kind of hellbeast you've been riding today."

Richard almost laughed aloud. "There are no sorcerers," he said, forcing his voice to stay calm.

"Well, we do know you're susceptible to the likes of them," His older brother went on. "You've been known to associate with witches."

"Rachel was NOT a witch." Richard heard his voice rise against his will. If this went on much longer, he and Armus would have a wrestling match before the sun was fully down.

Armus didn't seem to care. "She almost killed me." He claimed.

"You fell sick because you didn't shut your window and it rained on your bed while you slept in it." Richard pointed out.

Armus was shouting by now. "She bewitched me so I wouldn't shut the window."

"You were being lazy, that's all!" Richard yelled back.

"Enough!" Sir Thomas ended the discussion. "Armus, whoever the man in the forest was, he was certainly neither ghost nor witch. Richard, don't call your brother lazy. Now, if you'd just behave like grown men instead of boys for a moment – there was something else about Blackthorne horses, and I would like to see if it is true for this one as well."

Richard and Armus exchanged one last angry look before they turned towards their father.

"Richard, would you mind if Eleanor or Armus would ride your horse for a few minutes?" Sir Thomas asked.

His second son looked at his brother and sister. "Be my guest," he invited them.

Armus stepped back. "I'm not going to go near that – that THING!" He said forcefully.

Eleanor came closer. "I guess that means I get to ride him. Thank you, Richard!" She stepped beside the horse, just about to swing herself up on the unsaddled horse.

Darkmoon's ears went back, and he sidestepped Eleanor's attempt to mount him.

"Can you hold him for a moment, Richard?" The young woman asked.

Sir Thomas shook his head. "It will be no use," he said. "Jonathan trained his horses so they would only let their owner ride them – unless they were given a certain command that varied from horse to horse."

Richard thought about it. "I think he said something to the horse before he gave him to me." He tried to remember what it had been. "I fear I didn't pay any attention to it, though." he admitted.

"John Mullens must have known that," Eleanor said suddenly. "Why would he try to buy a horse that he would not be able to ride?"

"Maybe he thought this was just any golden horse," Richard offered.

"Maybe he thought Richard knew the command," Thomas added. "And even if he couldn't ride Darkmoon, he could use him to breed other racing horses like him."

 

After the Greys had eaten supper that evening, Armus rose to get the chess board.

"Up for a game, little brother?" he asked Richard. "Or are you running off to the stables already to make sure Mullens hasn't stolen your precious horse yet?"

Richard looked up at him. "Even Mullens wouldn't dare steal a horse out of father's stable."

Armus shrugged. "He might try, though," he mused.

The younger man got up. "He will not lay hands on my horse. If I have to, I'll sleep in the stables myself!"

His older brother opened his mouth to answer.

"Enough, both of you!" Sir Thomas interrupted as he heard his sons' voices rise. "Richard will not sleep in the stables! Armus, stop it at once!"

Armus looked at his father, defiance in his eyes. "Father--" he began.

Richard's eyes stayed fixed on the chessboard. "Sorry, Father," he said quickly. "I overreacted."

Surprised, Thomas Grey looked at his second son. It was absolutely uncharacteristic of Richard to give in so quickly. Maybe the boy was growing up at last? Then it occurred to Thomas that his order for Richard not to sleep in the stables was rather ridiculous. At almost twenty three, Richard was quite old enough to sleep wherever he pleased – be it his bed, that of someone else, the stables or the kitchens. Richard had to know that as well.

Thomas smiled to himself when he realized what had happened. Richard was getting good at this game! He had said what his father wanted to hear, making Armus look more stubborn than he was, and was most probably planning on doing as he liked anyway. Lord Grey had no doubt that Richard would have made a very good lord of Covington Cross, in due time. Of course, that would never happen. He was a younger son after all. The castle and the grounds would go to Armus. Thomas was proud of Armus, as he was proud of all his children, but he was realistic enough to realize that his eldest son was not suited to ruling a castle. Understandable though his motives were, he still was only a kitchen knight.

It happened only rarely, but in moments like this Sir Thomas almost wished that Richard had been the older of the two.

Thomas sighed deeply. William had gone off to the crusades, feeling the need to make a name for himself in the war, especially as he knew that, being the third son, there would not be much to inherit for him. Cedric's future had seemed so clear when he had been studying for the church, but now that Thomas had officially allowed him to quit his studies, the youngest son would have to find his own place in life somehow. Eleanor would probably marry sooner or later, though considering her past boyfriends, Thomas had almost made peace with the idea that his future son in law would be some starving artist, noble outlaw or similarly both useless and moneyless person. Well, as long as the girl was happy... He wasn't going to try and force another suitor like the late Henry of Gault on her.

At least that golden horse gave Richard an opportunity to start earning some real money of his own. He would not need to inherit his father's castle and riches if he managed to start a new breed of golden war or racing horses. The Greys were merchants after all, and they bred sheep. There was no reason why one of them should not breed and sell horses. Then again, Richard was handsome enough so some rich heiress might fall for him eventually. The same would be true for Cedric, once he got a little older. Thomas tried hard not to think about the fact that some rich heiress had already fallen in love with Cedric.

Thomas sighed again while he watched his youngest child standing behind Richard and Armus, who had begun setting up the chessboard. He turned a blind eye to the relationship between Cedric and Alexandra, knowing that his forbidding it would only encourage the two to keep it going. He was, however, quite aware of the fact that, should John Mullens ever find out, he would kill at least one of the two – and Thomas had the distinct feeling that it would not be Alexandra.

 

 

In the end, Richard decided to sleep in his own bed after all.

The next morning, however, saw him down in the stables, grooming his horse until the stallion's golden coat shone like polished metal.

He was still at it when riders came trotting into the courtyard.

Over the back of his horse, Richard watched as John Mullens dismounted.

"Where's your father?" the baron barked at the young man.

Richard shrugged. "In the castle, I assume," he replied.

"Announce me!" Mullens demanded.

With a sigh, Richard gave Darkmoon to one of the stablehands. This would become uncomfortable enough even if he did not openly insult Baron Mullens.

 

Sir Thomas came downstairs to greet Mullens with cool courtesy. There was no love lost between the two men.

Mullens did not waste any time with polite phrases. He came to the point immediately, throwing a pouch on the table. The sounds it made suggested that it was filled with coins.

"Count, and tell me if it's enough for that golden horse of yours," Mullens snarled.

Sir Thomas never looked at the pouch. "I fear you're mistaken, Baron Mullens," he said calmly. "But the horse is not mine to sell. It belongs to my son, Richard."

Mullens laughed drily. "Nonsense! Everyone knows that the horses in your stable belong to you, not your children. So? I think you will find my offer rather ... generous."

Still Thomas showed no interest in the money. "This horse was given to Richard as a present. You will have to negotiate with him if you want to buy it."

Richard walked a few steps into the room from where he'd been leaning against the wall. He took the money-pouch, and held it out to Mullens. "And as I already told you yesterday," he said with a blinding smile, "It's not for sale."

"You don't know what chance you're denying yourself, boy!" Mullens blurted out. "Count the money! It's more than you're likely to inherit!"

"I have no doubt of that," Richard answered evenly. "Still, I prefer to keep the horse."

Mullens snatched the money from Richard's hand. "I swear, I'll find out where that horse comes from!" he snarled.

Sir Thomas smiled. "If you do, please let me know. I might be interested in purchasing a few myself."

With a look of barely suppressed rage on his face, John Mullens left the castle of Covington Cross.

Thomas turned to leave when the door banged shut behind the Baron.

"Father, may I have a word?" Richard called, running after him. He'd come up with an idea that morning, and he wanted to find out if it could be carried out.

Thomas looked at his second son. "Well?" He asked, smiling fondly at him. "How can I be of service?"

Now that he had his father's ear, Richard didn't quite know how to begin. Suddenly, the idea seemed silly. Father would never agree – or would he?

"It's about Snowflake," Richard began slowly, ascending the stairs with his father.

"Snowflake?" Sir Thomas repeated. Since when was Richard interested in his warhorse? The boy preferred to ride lighter horses, and besides that he'd just gotten a stallion of his own... What did he want with Snowflake?

Richard nodded. "Yes. I... She's getting... old..." This was not going well. It was absolutely the wrong approach.

Sir Thomas' eyebrows rose.

"What I mean is," Richard continued hastily, "Maybe she'd like to have a foal before she gets too old."

"And..." Sir Thomas prompted.

"It could be a golden one," Richard suggested.

Now his father laughed. "And I assume you'd like me to pay for the privilege of that, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"No sir!" The answer came surprisingly fast.

They had reached Sir Thomas' study, and the older knight held the door open for the younger one. "Then what are you suggesting?"

Richard drew a deep breath. "I suggest that we wait a year. If it's a filly, she's yours. A colt – mine."

Thomas gave his son a long, thoughtful look. Warhorses were mostly mares or geldings. Riding a stallion into a battlefield could have unwanted side effects if there were any mares present. "Agreed," Lord Grey said finally, holding his hand out to Richard.

The younger man shook it.

"We could apply that same system to a few others as well," Sir Thomas added, returning to his desk where he had been working before he'd been summoned downstairs by Mullens' arrival.

Richard grinned. "We could," he agreed. "But you can't keep all the fillies, or we'd have to repeat this every year."

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	3. The Matter of Marriage

Weeks passed. Armus still kept his distance to Richard's horse. He also did not agree with the deal made between his brother and their father, but he kept his opinion to himself, most of the time. John Mullens had not tried to buy the golden stallion again. As far as the Greys knew, no similar animal had appeared anywhere nearby.

Once again, Richard and his father were alone in Sir Thomas' study. This time, it was the father who did not quite know how to begin.

"Richard..." he started.

"That's my name," Richard replied, a bit impatiently. "And you've said it for the fifth time now. What is it?"

"I've been thinking," Thomas said, "that it might be time for you to – to marry."

"To marry?" Richard almost squeaked. "How-- I mean, why-- I mean... you know what I mean!"

Thomas was not too sure about that, but he wisely refrained from saying so. "The Earl of Snowdon has a daughter – an only daughter – who seems to have fallen crazily in love with you when she saw you at the last tournament."

Richard frowned. He could remember the girl, sitting among the spectators with her parents. She had to be around Eleanor's age, maybe a bit younger. She was pretty, there was nothing to say against that. Still... He had not thought to be marrying for quite a while yet. He knew that his father was indulging his children very much in that respect, and that Sir Thomas had, at twenty two, already been father to the three year old Armus.

"Richard, I won't force you to marry this girl," Thomas promised, thinking of his disastrous attempt to engage Eleanor to Henry of Gault. "The dowry the Earl offers is most generous."

"For a second son, you mean," Richard said quickly. "He is aware that I'm the second son, right? He's not mistaking me for Armus? He would be very angry if he expected to get an eldest son and ends up with a second one."

Sir Thomas tried to figure out if Richard did indeed feel second-best for not being the first son. He had borne the duties of the eldest during the eight years that Armus had been away. It had been one of the reasons why Thomas had been so delighted by the Earl's offer. If Richard married young Susanna, he would one day become Earl of Snowdon.

"Think about it," Thomas told his son. "Give her a chance. I've invited the girl and her parents to Covington Cross. Get to know her, and make your decision afterwards. I won't agree to anything without your consent."

Richard nodded. That was fair enough. "All right," he gave in. "Let her come. We'll talk about the rest once I've met her."

 

When Sir Thomas went to greet the guests, Richard stood half a step behind him, waiting politely to be officially introduced.

Susanna climbed from the carriage. She was as pretty as Richard had remembered her, with long, blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore a burgundy dress with a bit too much lace for Richard's taste.

The girl smiled at him, and he returned the smile carefully.

"...this is my daughter, Susanna," the Earl just said.

Thomas gently pushed Richard forward. "And my son, Richard," he said.

Richard bowed politely to the earl before kissing Susanna's hand.

"Well," Sir Thomas said, waving the Earl inside. "Shall we leave the young people to get to know each other?"

Before Richard knew it, his father and the Earl had disappeared through the door. Automatically, he offered his arm to Susanna. "Would you like to see the castle?" he asked.

"Very much," Susanna answered, smiling up at Richard. He was about half a head taller than she.

"Where would you like to start?" the young man wanted to know.

 

Two hours later, Richard was starting to think that he could actually imagine being married to this girl. Instead of talking and giggling only about silly things, as so many noble girls her age used to do, Susanna actually was able to keep up a proper conversation. She asked intelligent questions, and gave sensible answers when asked something herself.

They sat on one of the benches in the gardens, and Susanna was just telling him that she owned a falcon and that her father had taught her how to hunt with it.

"You have to visit me at our castle, and we'll go hunting together," she said excitedly.

"Actually, Lady Susanna, I have never hunted with falcons before," Richard admitted. "I would probably only embarrass both myself and your family."

Susanna laughed. "I'm sure you'll learn quickly. You'll use one of the bigger birds of course, not a small ladies' falcon like the one I have. You'll like it, I know that!"

While Richard thought about how she spoke as if their engagement was already decided upon, she continued: "May I see your horse, Lord Richard? The golden one?"

"What?" Richard asked, slightly confused.

Susanna repeated her request.

Richard rose from the bench, offering the girl his arm again. "Of course," he agreed. "Let's go."

On the way to the stables, Susanna kept asking questions about the animal. Richard smiled to himself. A wife who was interested in horses was just the thing he needed. They would suit each other just fine, he was sure about that. There would be no reason to tell his father the marriage could not commence. Except maybe the fact that he did not love her. Then again, that was how things were, wasn't it? One married to gain an advantage for the family, not out of love. Love came later. If one partner died, the remaining one might later remarry for love, as Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth were doubtlessly planning on doing, but when one was young, things were different.

"He's a beauty!" Susanna breathed when Richard led the stallion into the courtyard. He was most impressing when the sun could make his golden fur shine. Darkmoon had to be the best-groomed horse in all of Covington Cross.

"I wish I could ride him," the girl murmured, while stroking the horse's mane. "Just once. Just for a few minutes."

Richard shook his head. "That, I fear, is going to be impossible, Lady Susanna." he explained. "Darkmoon is a one-man horse. He will not let anyone mount but me. Even if you would manage to get up there, he would throw you off again within a few moments. If you want to go riding, however, I will have a horse saddled for you."

For a moment, Susanna looked disappointed. Then her face lit up again. "Father said if we married--" She broke off, as if she had said something she was not supposed to.

"Yes?" Richard prompted. "If we married..?"

Susanna shook her head. "It's not important," she claimed, looking down.

The young man put a hand under the girl's chin and lifted her head to make her look at him. "I think it is," he said, keeping his voice as friendly as possible. "What would be if we married?"

Lady Susanna swallowed hard. "He said, with your stallion and his horses, he would be able to breed the best horses of all of England, and I'd always have a golden horse of my own to ride on." she did not repeat what else he had said, about money being no object any longer in that case, and Sir Thomas not deserving the wealth this golden stallion promised.

Neither did she have to. Richard could guess it very well on his own.

"Come," he said. "If you choose a palfrey from the stables, I'll have it saddled for you in an instant, and we can go for a ride. I will show you some of my father's lands."

Some minutes later, they left the castle of Covington Cross, Susanna riding sidesaddle on a chestnut gelding, Richard proudly on Darkmoon.

"Why do you use that old saddle?" Susanna asked when they had ridden a distance in silence.

Richard glanced down at his tack. He was still using the saddle and bridle Darkmoon had worn when he had gotten him. His father had offered to give him the money to have new tack made, but Richard had declined. The horse was his, and if he needed anything for it, he would pay for it out of his own pockets. Apart from that, the serviceable old saddle was comfortable and in perfectly good condition.

"I like it," he told his companion. "Besides, the contrast makes my horse look all the more elegant."

They both laughed.

One thing Richard had soon found out about Darkmoon was that, although he was born to run, he never got uncontrollable. He had not taken on the bad habit of biting down on the bit and running off without heed for his rider's wishes. The horse was young – about five years, by the looks of his teeth – but very well trained.  Richard could invite Susanna to a short gallop and did not have to worry that Darkmoon might take off with him as soon as he saw that the other horse started to pick up speed. Darkmoon knew there was a difference between galloping for the fun of it and racing, and he knew that it was the rider who decided which was called for at the moment.

Richard did make sure to give his stallion enough opportunity to run as fast as he liked. He had been at every race within riding distance during the past three weeks, as well as privately racing any young noble of the area who challenged him.

He had, however, vowed that he would never teach Darkmoon to be a horse for jousting. As it was customary that if a rider was unseated his horse was given to the winner, the stallion would never see a tournament ground. Richard knew he was as good at jousting as he was at any other tournament discipline, but he was not arrogant or conceited enough to really think he was invincible. One day someone would get lucky, and then Darkmoon must not be the horse he lost.

They returned to the castle still talking animatedly and laughing to each other. After they handed their horses over to a hostler, they went inside just in time for supper to be served.

Armus, Eleanor and Cedric cast curious looks at Richard and Susanna, who seemed to be getting along quite nicely. Sir Thomas glanced at his second son. Richard felt his father's eyes on him, and looked up to meet his eyes, then answered the unspoken question with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

 

Later that evening, after the guests had retired, Richard and his father remained in the great hall. The young man felt he owed an explanation to Lord Thomas.

"I'm sorry, father," he began, "but I will not marry Susanna."

Thomas nodded. "That much I gathered," he said. "Will you tell me why?"

"What?!" An incredulous yelp came from the stairs.

Both men looked up, and saw Armus standing there.

The big man walked down to them, taking two steps at a time. I glared at his younger brother. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded. "Letting that opportunity go without taking it? Richard, if you're doing this just to spite father, I swear--"

"Armus!" Richard interrupted him. "The way you talk one could think every decision I've ever made was made only for the purpose of spiting father! And that is not true."

"Then why, pray tell, are you not going with his choice of a wife?" Armus insisted.

"Armus, I promised to Richard beforehand that he would have the last say in this matter," Sir Thomas threw in. He would have preferred discussing this with Richard alone. Armus was making things difficult.

"Richard, I'd take that girl any second. So why isn't she good enough for you?" Armus insisted.

Richard stared at his brother. "Be my guest then, take her! You're welcome to her. Why don't you marry her if you like her that much already? Oh – I forgot..." Richard lowered his voice. "They didn't want you. Guess why?"

Hurt crept into Armus' eyes, and Richard sighed. "Armus, they don't want me either. Or maybe she does, but that would not matter at all, except that her father wants me as well. And the only reason for that is that he cannot have Darkmoon without taking me in the bargain. Do you understand now? The good earl would marry his daughter directly to my horse if he could! Do you honestly think knowing that feels any better than being the first son and not being considered as a future husband for the girl at all?"

His older brother looked thoughtful, and not inclined to continue the quarrel. "I never guessed..." He said slowly.

"No," Richard agreed. "You didn't."

Armus suddenly looked like an oversized puppy that had been caught in a rainstorm and wanted to be let inside. "I'm sorry, Richard. I truly am. That must be--"

"Don't," his younger brother interrupted him. "I knew there was going to be something. I knew there was bound to be a catch somewhere. Why did you think would an Earl appear at the doorstep of a lesser noble – excuse me father, no offense meant..."

"None taken," Thomas said quickly. The Greys were among the lowest ranking nobility, despite Thomas' friendly relationship with the king.

"...to marry his only daughter to a second son?" Richard finished his sentence.

Armus thought about it for a moment. "I thought, maybe he just wanted to humor his spoiled daughter." he offered.

Richard snorted. "Armus, even I am not that unrealistic. We all know that most nobles usually do not humor their only daughters if the matter at hand is marriage that far below rank!"

"Father would have--" Armus began to defend himself.

Richard grinned. "Yes, Father would have," he agreed. "But then again, father is not most nobles. Neither is he usual."

Thomas smiled at his sons. "Thank you, Richard," he said, looking a bit embarrassed.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	4. Highwaymen and Horse-Thieves

That summer was one of the hottest even Lord Thomas could remember. It was definitely the hottest since his children had been born. It had not rained for weeks, and the land was screaming for water. Thomas had never seen the river that low.

They tried to spend most of their days inside, venturing out only at dusk, when the sun disappeared and things got a bit more bearable.

Someone had to supervise the estate, though, and they took turns at it.

Richard and Darkmoon trotted down the road at a leisurely pace. Richard knew that his stallion longed for a good, long run despite the heat, but he did not feel up to the effort of steering a racing horse. Even when he was merely sitting on Darkmoon's back, letting the horse carry him wherever it liked, sweat kept trickling down his back.

Richard wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, cursing necessity that made him wear a leather jerkin over his shirt. He had thought about leaving it and riding out in shirtsleeves, but there was always the risk of getting into a fight, and at least the thick leather was some protection...

Catching sight of a familiar figure on the road, Richard picked up his pace.

A young peasant, about Richard's own age, with long, tousled hair, was making his slow way down the street.

"Hello there!" the rider called, and reined in his horse when he reached the other man.

The peasant looked up. "Well, 'ello, Lord Richard," he said. Sweat dampened his light blonde hair as well as Richard's dark blonde curls.

Leaning on his pommel, Richard told him: "Stop that nonsense! What are you doing out here in this heat, Samuel Reeve?"

Samuel shrugged. "I got to deliver something to friends of my mother's in the town," he said. "The sooner I get there, the sooner there'll be shade..." He glanced up at the sun.

"You'll be parched by the time you arrive," Richard noticed. He pointed to Samuel's waterskin, looking dangerously light already.

"You bet," Samuel agreed wholeheartedly.

"Well," Richard decided, urging Darkmoon forward a few steps. "Jump up."

"Mylord?" Samuel asked, unsure of what to do.

Richard clarified. "Mount behind me. We'll reach the town much faster than you ever could on foot."

Insecurely, Samuel eyed the horse. "Should you be doing that, Lord Richard? I'm but a peasant – you'll have business of your own to attend to – and isn't that the horse which will let no one ride but yourself?"

Chuckling, Richard replied: "Forget about my standing, Samuel. Right now we're both sweating in the heat. My horse won't mind the detour, and a short gallop will be all I'll need to catch up on my schedule again. And he doesn't mind if you sit behind me."

They had found out some time ago that Darkmoon had no objections if someone rode double with Richard. As long as his master was on his back, anyone else could join him there.

Richard reached down with one hand to help Samuel up.

"Hold on," he cautioned, and then they were off down the road.

 

They set Samuel down when they reached the town.  
"Thank you, Lord Richard," the young peasant said politely.

Richard grinned at him. "Forget about the lord, and I might do it again," he promised before he turned his horse into the direction of the town's center. He was going to stay for a drink or two.

The town looked dead. Most of the time, Richard was the only person on the streets. Dismounting in front of the first tavern he saw, Richard tossed a coin to a sleepy looking man who seemed to be in charge of the visitor's horses.

"Tend to my horse," Richard said. "See that he has enough water!"

Richard had found that it was rather improbable that Darkmoon was stolen. The stallion's refusal to let anyone but Richard mount made him difficult to steal in the first place. Aside from that, everyone in the area knew by now that the only golden horse around belonged to Richard Grey of Covington.

Inside, Richard ordered ale and found it warm, stale and thoroughly disgusting, and the serving maids and himself too exhausted from the heat to be any fun. He downed the tankard anyway, paid for it, and returned to his horse.

He left the town and rode down to the river, to drink some water and get the taste of stale ale out of his mouth.

He was just about to mount Darkmoon again when rough hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from the horse.

Richard whirled around, only to see himself surrounded by a group of sweating, dirty men in ragged clothing. All of them had drawn some weapon or other. One clutched at Darkmoon's reins, trying to draw the stallion away.

The horse knew there was something wrong. He refused to be led by the man who was holding on to his bridle by now, rearing and almost knocking the man over.

"Calm that horse!" someone hissed into Richard's ear. "Now!"

Richard made no move to obey. A crossbow was aimed at Darkmoon, but the man holding it did not seem to be inclined to shoot.

"Tell us the word!" another man snarled. "And we'll let you go."

"What word?" Richard asked, trying to play innocent.

"The word that makes your horse obey," the man explained.

Richard shook his head. "There is no word," he claimed. "He just doesn't like strangers that look like highwaymen."

"Now, that might be," the one who seemed to be the ragged group's leader said, "because we are highwaymen. And just look around: No one will come out to help you. Much too tiring in this heat."

Richard agreed to that. Being robbed in bright sunlight was a first-time experience for him, and he found it entirely too hot for it, too.

"I just spent all my money," he said, pointing to the town. "You'll have to go back to the tavern if you want it."

"We're not after yer money," the outlaws' leader laughed. "We're after yer horse."

"You won't be able to sell it anywhere," Richard informed them calmly, stopping his struggle against the hands that held him in place for a moment.

"We already have a buyer," the outlaw shot back.

Richard felt the hands on him relax a bit. With a single, lightning-fast movement, he pulled his arms out of his captor's grip, drawing his sword the instant is right hand was free.

Now, however, he faced five men with long knives or swords, all of them looking like they were ready to kill him. Richard turned, swinging his sword in large figure eights to keep them away from him. He tried to move into the direction of his horse, but that was where the outlaws stood closest to each other.

One of them lunged at him. Richard easily parried the stroke, but he saw another sword flash on the side, and he only barely evaded it.

"Don't kill him yet!" the outlaw's leader ordered. "That horse is only worth half the price if it's not rideable!"

Sweating heavily, Richard turned and parried, hardly able to counter their attacks with one of his own. There simply was no time. His sword arm felt heavier by the second.

A sharp pain above his right elbow told Richard that his luck had run out. It felt only like a minor wound at first. Then he glanced down at it.

That was a mistake. Pain caught up with him as soon as he saw the man pulling his slightly curved sword away. The blade had bitten deeply into the muscle of Richard's upper arm. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Richard's sword threatened to fall from suddenly numb fingers. He deftly caught it in his left hand, and resumed his defensive position, swinging the sword in figure eights between his opponents and himself. At least there was no danger of slipping in his own blood. The parched ground drank it up. Still, the blood loss, together with the immense heat, would soon weaken him. In a desperate attempt to gain some more room, Richard lunged at one of the outlaws with his sword outstretched.

The man managed to avoid the blade, and Richard overbalanced, tripping on something. He struggled to regain his balance, but he knew that the fight was over from him as he felt the ground vanish from under his feet.

At once hands grabbed at his clothes, pulling him up again, fingers digging into his flesh. He was sure he would be able to see the fingerprints on his arms the next morning. If he lived that long, that was.

"Easy there, you're ripping my arm off," Richard hissed when his wrists were tied behind his back with a piece of rough rope. One of the bandits tied a crude bandage around the gash in Richard's arm and a blindfold over his eyes. "Can't have you bleeding on the ground all the way, can we?" he asked as he did it. "You'd be much too easy to find then. And we can't let you know where we have our hideout neither."

Someone pushed Richard forward, and he staggered blindly a few steps forward. Outlaws grabbed both his arms and pulled him along. It was difficult to keep his footing on the uneven ground, but somehow, Richard managed not to fall too often. He could hear Darkmoon struggle against his captors. It was in vain. They were too many.

The bandits had left their horses hidden in the forest, far enough away so they could not be spotted from the road. Richard fell against the soft, warm flank of a shaggy horse.

"Mount," the outlaw to his right growled.

Groping blindly for the stirrup, Richard obeyed. Thoughts of fleeing as soon as he was in the saddle evaporated quickly. One of the bandits was holding the reins. The horse would not move.

An outlaw swung into the saddle behind Richard. The young man felt the tip of a dagger pressed into his side. "No tricks, boy!" the man behind him ordered.

It was an uncomfortable ride. Richard had no idea where they were going. He also had no way of telling how long they took getting there.

Finally, the horse stopped. The outlaw behind Richard slid off its back, securing the reins. He pulled at Richard's shirt and almost unseated him.

"Get your hands off me, I'm coming!" Richard hissed through clenched teeth, and found out that dismounting blindly with his hands tied behind his back was not as easy as he would have thought.

He hit the ground hard, and was pulled upright again ungently. 

Someone removed the blindfold.

Richard looked around. He was standing in a clearing that he could not remember seeing before. In its center there stood two stone buildings. Someone wealthy must have lived here once. Now he was gone, whoever he had been, and this place had become the bandits' hideout.

Wordlessly, Richard was grabbed by the arm, fingers digging painfully into his fresh wound, and dragged towards one of the houses.

Inside, they stood in a big room with a hearth that was, of course, currently not holding a fire. One of the bandits opened a door in the back wall, and Richard was steered towards it, then invited to enter it with a kick.

The door fell shut behind him and he heard a key turning in the lock.

Richard sighed. Now he was in what the bandits seemed to consider their brig. A small heap of dirty straw lay in one corner of the impossibly small room, things moving in it that Richard preferred not to look at too closely. A bucket that smelled less than pleasantly stood in another one.

The only window was tiny and set high in the wall. There was no way he could escape out there.

It did, however, not keep insects from entering, as Richard soon found out. The makeshift bandage on his arm was already soaked with fresh blood. Although he removed it and tore a strip from his shirt for a fresh bandage, he soon found himself too busy warding off flies to concentrate on listening at the door to what his captors might say.

The day drew on, long and hot, and Richard sat in his cell, alone, thinking about his fate. He tried to keep his thoughts away from hunger and thirst, which soon began to plague him. He had not eaten since breakfast, and the outlaws had taken his waterskin along with his weapons.

Night fell, and brought relief from the flies, if not from the heat. Still no one seemed to think it necessary to provide him with food or water, although Richard could hear the bandits celebrating behind the door.

It was near dawn when he fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

A boot kicked his ribs, hard. Richard was awake instantly, wondering how he could have slept through the bandits entering the cell even as he rose. His hands were tied again, the rope chafing painfully at the already raw strips of skin on Richard's wrists. He felt weak from the hunger, thirst, heat and blood-loss. A quick glance at his arm told him that once again blood had soaked through the bandage. There would not be much fighting for him today.

Outside in the clearing, Darkmoon was held by two men. The horse did not look as if it had been mistreated. Of course not – the bandits had said they had a buyer for it. He would probably want it undamaged.

Richard was backed up against a corner of one of the houses. Two outlaws held him on either side. Their leader walked up to the young noble, grinning at him. "Well?" he asked. "How do you like being our guest?"

"I've seen better guesthouses," Richard spat, his voice sounding slightly hoarse.

The outlaw laughed, but turned serious in an instant. "How do you tell that horse to let someone else ride?"

"I don't," Richard said.

Wrong answer.

The outlaw's leader backhanded him across the face. Richard tasted blood from a split lip.

"Try again," the filthy man suggested.

"There is no trick to it," Richard claimed.

Fists gloved in studded leather hit his stomach and ribcage in rapid succession.

Richard doubled over, held upright only by the bandits gripping his arms.

"Well?"

Richard raised his head slightly, trying to catch his breath. Something in the eyes of the other one told him that they would beat him to death if he did not answer.  He shook his head slightly.

More blows to his ribs, his face, his stomach. More pain flashing when a hand found the sword cut in his upper arm and squeezed.

Still, Richard would not answer. Even if he wanted to, he would not have not been able to. He simply did not know the magical word they were looking for. He had made his peace with the fact that he was going to die today - unless something very unlikely happened - the night before.

For a moment, the thought of the man who had given him the horse shot through his head. If he had been Jonathan Blackthorne's ghost, he had taken his revenge on the wrong man. If he wasn't-- Richard wondered if he knew how much trouble the gift of a golden horse brought to the person who received it.

Suddenly, Richard found himself grabbed by the shoulders, and the bandit chief's face appeared closely before his eyes.

"Tell me the word!" The man yelled, spittle spraying from his lips. Richard felt the urge to lift a hand and wipe his face, but it was impossible.

When Richard did not reply, the other man thrust him back against the corner of the hut. His head hit the rough stone hard, pain exploding in his skull. The bandit pulled Richard towards himself again.

That was it, then, Richard thought. The bandits had gathered around him. Darkmoon was tied to a branch. Rather sloppily, Richard noted, as the stallion leaned against the rope, and the knot gave way. He managed a faint smile with bloodied lips, when he saw is beautiful golden horse turn and leave the clearing at a run. "I don't know," he whispered. "He's never told me. Besides, you don't even have the horse anymore."

The bandit leader glanced over his shoulder. Something inside him seemed to snap. Richard hardly felt the other outlaws letting go of his arms before his head hit the stone once, twice... then merciful darkness surrounded him.

 

The outlaws watched silently as their leader battered the prisoner against the stone wall, a sickening thud accompanying each time the man's head connected with the stone. Finally, their chief let go of the young man. His legs folded in under him, and he dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Wake him!" the chief ordered.

One of the bandits, accustomed to his leader's fits of rage, went to get a bucket of cold water to empty it over the unconscious prisoner.

The man did not stir.

Another bucket.

No reaction.

Livid with rage, the leader kicked him in the ribs once again. Not even a moan escaped from the man's lips.

"That's it," the second-in-command said silently. "You overdid it. What now?"

"Damn!" his boss yelled, hitting the bloodied wall with his gloved fist, as if it had been its fault. Then the rage ebbed from his eyes. What was done was done. There was no undoing it, and they had to make the best of it. "You, and you," the leader pointed at two of his outlaws. "Dispose of that." It was clear that "that" was Richard. "The rest of you: Catch that horse!"

"What are we to do with him?" one of the two who were supposed to get rid of Richard's body demanded. His voice had a whining tone to it. "Bury him?"

"Just leave him by the road – far enough away from here, off the Baron's grounds," the leader replied, a grim smile on his face. "I want him to be found."

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	5. A Restless Spirit

Had the bandits made any effort to check, they might have noticed that the body they were disposing of was not quite dead yet. As it was, they only slung the unmoving man over one of their horses, and deposited him near the road, a good distance from the border to Baron Mullens' land, just as their leader had instructed. Then they returned to their lair.

Richard lay in the dirt, deeply unconscious, blood from the cuts in his scalp trickling through his curls onto the ground. He was completely oblivious to the dog that drew near, sniffing at his wounds and sitting down to keep watch by his side. He never noticed the dog's owner coming along in search of the wayward animal, kneeling down beside him to quickly examine his most obvious wounds before carefully lifting him onto a horse and mounting behind him.

Once during the ride, Richard's eyes flickered open. His body was one massive source of pain, each step of the horse beneath him intensifying it. He was not quite sure why he was feeling so badly, but he had the feeling that it was important. He caught a glimpse of golden fur below him.

"Darkmoon..." he whispered, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, before darkness surrounded him again.

 

The first thing Richard felt when he woke was pain. Actually, it was the only thing he felt. His whole body hurt, but it seemed to be unimportant in relation to the pain in his head. Opening his eyes was unthinkable. All he wanted to do was return to the unfeeling darkness that had surrounded him for...for... he had no idea for how long. Even thinking hurt. He tried to stop it, but did not quite succeed.

Something was pressed against his lips. Liquid filled his mouth; he swallowed. It was the only thing he could do.

Darkness reclaimed him instantly.

 

The blurred shape of a woman with dark hair appeared somewhere above Richard. She seemed to smile at him, stroking curls of his hair back from his face and saying words that did not quite penetrate the haze that surrounded him. The pain, though strangely distant now, didn't help either. He could not concentrate.

He thought he had seen the woman before.

Where? When?

Maybe in a dream... Maybe...

His mouth formed the word before he had even consciously thought it. "Mother?"

Was he dead? He had never imagined death to be this painful. Then again, most of the time he had not imagined death at all.

Had she shaken her head? Nodded? He couldn't tell, couldn't remember. His mind had wandered, and he had not seen clearly if she had answered.

A cup was raised to his mouth. Suddenly he felt thirsty. He drank greedily.

Tired, so tired...

Slowly, Richard's eyes closed, shutting out the unclear image and any thought about its meaning.

 

The pain was still there. It wasn't quite as bad as before, though, and he felt more 'real' than he had in a long time. Every breath sent a sharp stab of pain through his ribs, but if he tried hard to lie still, the rest would subside to a bearable level.

  

  1. Richard opened his eyes to a dim room. The last light of the setting sun shone through a big window   in the wall across from the bed on which he lay. He let his eyes wander through the room, and hardly believed what he saw. A dark-haired man in a shirt that was several sizes too big was seated at a table. It was the person who had given him Darkmoon. 
  



In the forest, he had taken the man for a peasant because of his clothing. Now he decided that he must have been mistaken. He had once had to live in a peasant's hovel for a few days, and he was sure he would recognize one when he saw it. This was not a peasant's home.

The walls were made of stone. There was glass in the window. A thick, soft grey fur cushioned the bed – a real bed, too, not some straw mattress on the floor.

No, this was not the home of a poor peasant.

Nor was it Covington Cross, of course.

The man looked up from the book he had been reading as if he had felt Richard's eyes on him. He smiled.

"Awake?" he asked.

Richard thought that it was obvious. "Yes," he answered anyway, surprised by how weak his own voice sounded.

The man got up, collected a pitcher and a mug from a shelf on the wall, and poured water for Richard. "It's real water this time," he said, offering it to the patient.

Richard managed a crooked smile when he thought of the strange memories that he had of moments when he had woken before.

"What's your name, handsome?" the man asked Richard when he had emptied the mug.

Richard frowned up at him. "You know that already, Blackthorne," he observed. He decided he did not like being addressed as "handsome". He knew he was, usually, at least. Right now his face felt as if a mirror would show him a wide array of green, blue and purple hues, but hardly anything else. He also noticed that the other one did not seem surprised about being addressed in this manner, nor did he seem to mind.

"Well, tell me again anyway," the man urged him.

Richard gave in. What point was there in resisting? "I'm Richard Grey, of Covington," he stated his name.

"That you are," the man agreed. "You remember what happened to you?"

That wasn't quite that easy. "Highwaymen caught me?" It sounded almost like a question.

"You knowing that, or guessing that?"

Richard thought about it. "I know it," he decided. "They tried to steal my horse. Your horse..."

"Your horse," the man confirmed.

"Fine then, my horse," Richard agreed. Talking this much was tiring, but there was one more thing he wanted to know. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"What's wrong with Blackthorne all of a sudden?" The other man said lightly, almost as if joking.

Richard did not answer.

'Blackthorne' refilled the mug and left it where Richard's left hand could reach it easily before replacing the pitcher on the shelf. "Think you can eat a little? If so, I'll get you some broth."

"Sure," Richard murmured, quite certain that he'd be asleep again by the time the man returned.

 

In the end, sleep did not come quite so easily this time.

Either there had to be a cook, or the broth had already been ready and kept warm on the fire, because Blackthorne returned almost instantly, carrying a steaming bowl. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he used a number of pillows to prop Richard up just enough so he could eat without the risk of getting broth all over himself and the bed.

"I didn't know you were a healer as well as a breeder of fine horses," Richard remarked between spoonfuls. Eating left-handed was more difficult that he had ever imagined, but his right arm protested every movement.

Blackthorne did not deny either. "We've always been too far away from any town or village. Besides, no healer would ever come out here." he explained. "You pick up useful tricks if you have to rely on yourself to survive."

"Who's we?" Richard asked. Then he remembered something. "There was a woman earlier, I think. Who was she?"

Blackthorne shook his head. "I've been on my own for the past ten years."

Richard thought him to be around twenty five. That would mean he had been living alone in the forest since he was fifteen! If they still were in the forest.

"Where are we?" Richard wanted to know. "And why did you say no healer would come here?"

"It's an old castle. Mostly in ruins now. They say this place is haunted," Blackthorne replied evenly. "Won't come near it. That's why the lord let us live here in peace. Even if he had dared to use the castle, the peasants would never have moved into the old village again."

Richard swallowed another mouthful of broth, and put the spoon away. "Is it?" he asked, carefully trying to find a comfortable position.

"What?" Blackthorne returned, taking the bowl from him, and walking towards the door.

"Haunted." Richard felt he was getting tired. His eyes started to close.

Blackthorne shrugged. "I've been here most of my live." he said. "Never seen a ghost."

"Maybe that's because you're the ghost?" Richard murmured, half asleep already.

The other man stood by the door now, looking at Richard through the room. "Maybe." he agreed.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	6. An Angry Ghost

The room was empty when Richard woke again. Through the window he could see clouds hanging thick and grey in the sky, rapidly growing heavier. There would be rain soon.

Good. The land needed the rain, and so did the people who lived on and off it. Richard hoped the castle's roof did not leak. Blackthorne had, after all, said that it was mostly ruins.

Where was he anyway?

After a moment, Richard mentally shook his head about himself. How could he expect him to sit around and wait on him all day? The man had a life of his own to tend to!

Did he really? What if he really was Jonathan Blackthorne's ghost?

The door opened, and Blackthorne's face appeared. "Awake?" he asked.

"Obviously." Richard answered. "Say, do you have my clothes somewhere? And could you lend me one of your shirts, maybe?" He remembered tearing his own for bandaging his arm.

Blackthorne's eyebrows rose. "Yes to both questions," he said. "But what do you want with clothes right now?"

"If I hurry I might get home before the storm starts," Richard explained. "But I'd really have to leave at once."

Blackthorne chuckled silently. "No, handsome," he said. It was a statement, nothing more and nothing less. "You're not going anywhere today."

Frowning, Richard fixed him with a stare. "Am I a prisoner here?" he asked

Now Blackthorne laughed openly. "A prisoner?" he repeated. "That's a good one! No, Richard Grey, you are not a prisoner. In fact, you can leave at any time you want to. I'll get you some clothes right away and you can take a horse from my stables. I won't stand in your way."

Richard was thoroughly confused. A moment ago, Blackthorne had told him he would not be going anywhere. Now he even offered to give him a horse for the ride back.

Blackthorne disappeared, and returned only a few minutes later, laying out Richard's breeches, boots, belt and jerkin, as well as one of his own shirts.

"Thanks," Richard murmured, still not quite sure what to make of that man. Then he pushed himself up into a sitting position. At least he tried to. The first thing he found out was that his right arm gave in under his weight.

A second later, pain exploded in his head and ribs and left him gasping for air.

He sank back against the pillows, closing his eyes and waiting for the pain to subside. It did so eventually, but not completely. A steady throbbing reminded him that any future attempts at getting out of bed should not be undertaken all too soon. "Looks like I'll be staying a little while longer," he admitted finally.

"Looks like it," Blackthorne repeated. Richard noticed that he did that a lot. Then the man went on. "Well, you can stay until you're well enough for the ride back to your father's castle." Now he sounded as if he would have preferred Richard to be able to leave right away.

Richard stared at the ceiling. "Can you send a note to father, telling him I'm here? He could send a carriage or something."

Blackthorne shook his head. "I'm not going to ride all the way to Covington Cross to deliver your messages, handsome. I have enough work to do as it is, and there's no one else here you could send out as a messenger."

The young man on the bed thought about it for a moment. "Forget that I asked," he said finally. "It's just... My father will be worried sick, and someone in my family is bound to do something rash. I wish I could let them know I'm all right. Or well, alive at least."

Silence.

Then, just when Richard was about to give up, Blackthorne spoke. "I'll see what I can do."

 

Sir Thomas Grey sat in a cushioned chair in the solar, staring out at the courtyard under the window. Richard had been missing for almost a week now. They had known something more than Richard getting lost in a tavern was wrong the moment Darkmoon came through the gate, unsaddled, with enough greenery caught in his mane and tail to make up half a forest. There had been no hint at Richard's whereabouts since then. No note, no message, nothing at all.

Thomas, Armus, Cedric and Eleanor had searched all of their land, and secretly ventured into Mullens' lands as well. It had all been in vain.

The door burst open, and Eleanor came in, followed closely by her brothers.

Thomas rose and turned. His daughter held something.

"A messenger just brought this," she said. "Looked like a peasant, but I didn't know him. He said it's about Richard."

Thomas almost ripped the note from her grip. He broke the seal, unrolling the letter and reading it out loud to his children.

"To Thomas Grey of Covington Cross; I'm writing to inform you that your son Richard is safe with me, and as well as can be expected considering the circumstances. He was injured in a fight with the bandits who tried to rob him of the golden horse which has, undoubtedly, by now returned to your stable. He will return to you as soon as his health permits.

JB"

"What is that?" Armus blurted out. "That impertinent--"

"He never wrote where he was." Eleanor noticed. "Or she. If we'd known we could have sent a coach to get Richard!"

"Who's JB?" Cedric wanted to know.

The Greys looked at each other.

"Jonathan Blackthorne?" Armus suggested.

Thomas shook his head. "He's been dead these last twenty six years, Armus," he said, surprisingly calm.

"He's supposed to haunt the ruins of old Blackthorne castle," Armus insisted. "I've heard people tell about it."

"What you mean is," Cedric corrected, "you've been asking every person above the age of thirty that you met to tell you all they know about the Blackthornes ever since father first told us about them."

Armus started to answer, but Sir Thomas cut him off. "Enough," he said. "I believe we have no choice but to wait and hope for the best. I would ride to Blackthorne castle at once if I was sure we would find Richard there, but as it means going all the way through John Mullens' land, I will not risk it unless I have more proof than the two letters at the bottom of this note! The King has once again informed me that this is not, as he calls it, 'a time for Englishmen to be divided'. He would not be pleased if we trespassed on Mullens' land to hunt down a ghost." Thomas neglected to give his children a more detailed overview over the conversation he had had with the King. John Mullens was a baron, and, though usually on friendly enough terms with the king, Thomas was only a landed merchant. The order to stay clear of Mullens' land had been a thinly veiled threat.

"But father!" Armus cried.

"No buts, Armus!" Sir Thomas shot back.

Thunder sounded outside, as if to underline his words.

 

Blackthorne kept the most amazing library.

Richard thought that he had not read as much in his whole life as he had in the past three or four days.

When he had first tried his luck with a book, about two days after the first time that he had been awake and coherent, he had had to give up after a few minutes. The letters would start to blur, doubling and moving apart until he could no longer make out the words. Also, concentrating on anything for any period of time seemed to increase his headache.

Now, over a week later, he was finally starting to feel like himself again. The pages and their contents stayed in place, and his head did not protest as often or as violently as before.

Armus would be so happy to find out how well he'd been using his time.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe, as far as Armus was concerned, a ghost's library was to be avoided as much as the ghost himself. And Armus would certainly consider Blackthorne a ghost.

Richard was increasingly sure that he was not. Yes, the man did seem to disappear off the face of the earth for hours at a time, but then again he had work to do that was not limited to the things one could do without getting up.

This was one of those times, and things that could not be done while lying in bed included going to wherever Blackthorne kept his books and getting a new one.

Richard had decided that he liked the man well enough, although his mood frequently seemed to change rather rapidly. One moment he would sound as if he would have liked to deliver Richard to his father that very instant, and the next he'd be friendly and sympathetic.

With a sigh, Richard closed his book and put it aside. Would he be able to find the library on his own? More important, would he even be able to get out of bed without help?

Maybe it was time to find out.

The clothes Blackthorne had offered him when he had first demanded to go home were still there, neatly folded within his reach.

Slowly, Richard discarded the nightshirt he'd been wearing and dressed. He discovered that he was actually thankful for Blackthorne's habit of wearing shirts that could have easily accommodated Armus. He reached for the last piece that was still lying beside him, and reconsidered. Even the thought of buttoning his close-fitting leather jerkin made his shattered ribs hurt fiercely.

One hand on the wooden frame of the bed for support, Richard stood. The room tried to spin once, then settled.

"So far I'm all right" Richard told himself. He felt weaker than he liked to admit, but at least he stood without much risk of crashing to the floor any moment.

The room in which he had been staying was part of a suite. As Blackthorne did not seem to be someone to entertain guests frequently, Richard supposed that he had put him in his own chambers.

The door across from the one through which his host used to disappear led into a small dressing room. Richard assumed that he would find a mirror there.

Trying not to use the furniture for support too much, he went over to it.

As he had suspected, the room included a big mirror on one wall.

Steeling himself, Richard looked into it. Surprise took him when he saw his face, a bit pale but otherwise just as he remembered it. Any bruising that had been there had disappeared already. Had he been here longer than he had thought?

He banished the thought and frowned at himself. His hair, unruly at the best of times, seemed to have developed a life of its own lately. It stood every which way, stray strands hanging into his face uncomfortably.

Richard automatically reached for one of the combs that were lying around. For the short-haired man that he was, Blackthorne did seem to be awfully fussy about his hair.

He abandoned the thought of attacking his curls with the comb almost as soon as he started. The cuts in his scalp had not healed enough yet. Richard grimaced as he vaguely remembered hitting the corner of the stone wall. He combed out his hair with his fingers until he was satisfied with his appearance. Then he went in search of the library.

The other door led him into an unadorned hall lined with unlit torches. There were doors on both sides. Which one would it be?

He had to start somewhere, so he opened the first door he passed and looked inside. Surprise made him take a step inside. This was a lady's room. So there was a woman in this castle after all! Why had Blackthorne lied to him? What did he have to hide?

Richard heard steps behind him. He whirled around to stare into Blackthorne's face. It was impossible to read any emotion in it.

"Well," he heard Blackthorne say, his voice tightly controlled. "I guess if you're well enough to go sneaking around my castle, you should be well enough to return to your family."

Richard did not quite know what to answer.

"I did not..." he finally said slowly. "I mean, I was just--"

Blackthorne waved away what might have become an apology. "I'll saddle a horse for you," he said. "Come."

Before Richard could answer, he had already turned around and started walking down the hall. Richard could only follow.

They stepped out into a courtyard. To Richard's surprise, the castle looked like it really was in ruins from the outside. There was nothing that would have given a hint that someone still lived there.

Blackthorne led the way to a wing where most of the buildings were still standing, even though they looked like they would not remain this way for long.

"Don't worry," Blackthorne said when he noticed Richard's reluctance to enter there. "It's perfectly safe."

Muttering something under his breath, Richard followed.

The inside of the stable looked much better than the outside. The walls and ceiling seemed strong and without cracks. The stalls were clean and well built. No horse would easily break out of this stable.

Amazed, Richard walked down the row of horses. Most of them were light, spirited animals, but there were also two heavy warhorses among them. There were mares and stallions of all colors. If he had been asked to choose one, he would have been hard pressed to make his choice.

At one end of the row, the variety of colors ended. The last horses on either side had the same golden hue that made Darkmoon so special. Most of them were foals, much too young to ride them. While Richard still admired them, Blackthorne led one from its stall.

"You can't--" Richard said when he saw the horse's color.

Blackthorne stared at him. "It's just a gelding," he said. "His name is Lightning. It's the only palfrey I have right now."

Richard frowned. A palfrey was a lady's horse. Instead of trotting, it had a soft gait that was easy to sit.

"You're not in any condition to ride anything else right now," Blackthorne said, saddling the horse with a few short, expert moves. Then he chose another horse and saddled it as well before leading them both out into the courtyard.

Richard reached for Lighting's reins. Instantly, the horse danced sideways.

Blackthorne had mounted a stallion that rivaled Darkmoon in beauty. He watched Lighting avoid Richard's attempts at getting into the saddle with a smile. "Haven't you figured out how things work with my horses yet, handsome?" he called.

Richard glared at Blackthorne while the other man urged his horse beside Lightning, leaning forward until his mouth was almost besides the gelding's ear and whispering something that Richard could not quite make out.

This time the horse went still until Richard was seated securely.

"I'll accompany you until you're near Covington Cross," Blackthorne announced. "To make sure you don't lose your way."

Richard suspected it was more to make sure he did not take any more unexpected detours. He refrained from saying so, though, and urged his horse forward to follow the one with Blackthorne on it.

He soon found out that Blackthorne had been right once again. He would have been absolutely lost if he had had to ride a normal horse. After a few minutes in the saddle, his body started to protest. Most of the time Lightning followed Blackthorne's horse regardless of what Richard did. It was lucky for him, because he doubted his ability to direct a horse over any distance right now. Most of the time it was all he could do to stay in the saddle. He even gave up on trying to remember the way.

 

By the time they came within seeing distance of Covington Cross, Richard wished he had never thought of looking for that library on his own. If he had stayed in his bed, he would have been comfortable right now, either reading or talking to Blackthorne. As it was, he was just about to start the last stretch of the most painful ride he had ever experienced.

"I'll return the horse." He promised.

"Stop saying that, handsome," Blackthorne said. "As you noticed, he's a lady's horse. Give him to some lady that deserves him."

"You can't give those horses away like that!" Richard protested. "They're too valuable. Besides, I don't know the word!"

"It's 'thunder', of course," Blackthorne said, wheeling his horse. "Just whisper it into his ear before giving him away." Without another word or greeting, he galloped away, back into the forest.

"Well, Lightning, we're on our own now," Richard whispered to the horse he was riding, turning it back to face Covington Cross. "Please don't drop me on the way?"

The horse seemed to nod agreement. Grinning at his own imagination, Richard picked up the reins and let the gelding walk towards the castle that loomed up before them.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	7. Back to Normal

 

Sir Thomas stood in the courtyard, overseeing a few wagons being unloaded, when he heard hoofbeats behind him. He turned--

\--and stared, unable to say anything at first. Richard, his second son, missing for weeks, had returned. He was riding another of those golden horses – a gelding, Thomas noted at once. No, he corrected himself, riding was not quite the right word. He was clinging to the saddle with the last of his strength. The horse stopped a few steps away from Thomas, who finally found his voice.

"Richard!" He shouted, covering the distance between himself and his son with a few quick strides, leaving the wagon unsupervised.

"Hello, father." The sheepish grin on Richard's face looked a bit forced. Thomas noticed that his son was very pale.

Richard dismounted stiffly, holding on to the saddle for support when he stood in the courtyard at last. He boy was obviously in pain.

Thomas opened his arms to embrace his son.

Richard moved back a step to avoid the touch. "Don't," he said. His voice sounded breathless. "Cracked ribs--"

Worry crept into his father's eyes. "Richard, you're--"

"I'll be all right," Richard interrupted him. "I just need some rest."

Richard admitting to that worried Thomas more than anything, but before he could make a reply, Armus came racing towards them.

"Richard!" he yelled, ready to throw his arms around his little brother.

Richard had just enough time to notice that Armus was after all a good deal bigger than the shirt Blackthorne had given him, and backed away. He winced as he collided with his horse.

"Richard!" Armus repeated. "What happened? Where'd you get that horse?" Then rage seemed to drip from his voice. "Did that ghost bewitch you or something, that you're avoiding the touch of your own family?"

"I--" Richard started, leaning against the saddle.

Armus did not let him get any farther. "Don't deny it, brother!" he snarled. "I saw you back away from father as well!"

Now it was Richard's turn to get angry. "Armus!" He shouted. "I don't want any of you to hug me because my ribs are broken, and they already hurt like hell from the ride here, all right? I met no ghosts, and no one has bewitched or ensorcelled me. Now if you don't mind I would like to go to my chamber and REST!" The shouting did not help the pain in his chest.

"Armus, leave him be," Thomas ordered his eldest son, carefully putting an arm around the younger one's shoulders. Richard's request to be allowed to go to his room and rest was rare enough and told Thomas more than anything else about how bad his son really felt. Worry for the young man increased when he felt Richard sink against him as soon as he let go of the saddle he had been holding on to. None of his children had ever before admitted to needing help, let alone allowed themselves to lean on someone for support.

"Armus, stable that horse," Thomas said curtly. He was not going to enter another witchcraft discussion with this eldest now.

"I'm not going to touch that thing!" Armus protested.

"Armus!" A warning lay in Thomas' voice. Armus still did not budge.

Richard wished that just once, Armus would forget about his superstitions. His head had started to hurt again. He wanted to lie down and sleep for at least a century.

"I'll take the horse, my lord," someone offered. Thomas nodded approval, and turned to lead Richard inside. Armus followed.

They had just covered the first flight of stairs, when a door burst open, and Cedric and Eleanor came running.

"Richard!" Eleanor shouted as soon as she caught sight of her brother.

"Don't try to hug him," Armus cautioned. "He doesn't like that today."

"It hurts!" Richard ground through clenched teeth.

"You look like death warmed over, Richard," Cedric announced after a long look at his older brother.

Richard stared at him. "Ever so charming..." he mumbled.

Once in his room, Richard sank onto the bed, closing his eyes to gather his strength for the task of undressing. He felt hands tug on his boots.

He forced his eyes open again, to see Cedric busy trying to get his boots off, and Thomas leaning over him with a worried expression on his face.

"Would you like me to call a healer?" Thomas asked his son seriously.

Richard shook his head. "No. I've been treated by a healer. And," he shot a thankful glance at Cedric, who just finished his work on Richard's boots, "if you call another one, I'll have to stay awake until after he leaves. It's just been the ride that's been too much for me today. I'll be fine in the morning. I promise." He did not feel as certain as he made himself sound. He knew that even him using the words "been too much for me" had Thomas at the brink of running for the healer himself.

Richard contemplated making himself rise to change into a nightshirt. Sleeping in his clothes seemed to be the better choice for him right now, but he was not sure how much more Thomas could take before he would go and get the healer anyway.

Cedric rescued him. Richard wondered how the boy had managed to produce his nightshirt so quickly. When had he gotten so well acquainted with Richard's wardrobe that he could find a piece within seconds?

This was not the time to ask questions of that kind, Richard decided. He took the garment from his younger brother, and started unlacing his shirt.

His hands trembled with fatigue.

Thomas noticed, and just barely resisted the urge to brush Richard's hands aside and undress his son.

Grinding his teeth against the pain as his ribs protested the movement, Richard tossed the shirt aside.

Eleanor, standing in the doorway with Armus, punched her older brother as she caught sight of the bandage that was wound tightly around Richard's upper torso. "Armus you oaf! Of course he doesn't want to be hugged right now. It must HURT!"

Without answering, Armus turned and walked away. Eleanor followed, closing the door behind her.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief. He would not have been too comfortable if he had had to finish undressing with his sister in the room.

 

The next morning, Richard forced himself to get out of bed. His head still hurt and he felt as if he could just go on sleeping for the rest of the day. That would certainly send Thomas off for a healer, though, and Richard did not like to be surrounded by those people. Blackthorne had been a rather unusual one, he thought. Whatever he'd done had had a reason he could explain, and whatever he'd given Richard to dull the pain or prevent infection had worked.

Richard chose the loosest-fitting shirt that he could find and checked his appearance in the mirror before he left his room.

He looked all right, he supposed, although it was unusual for him to be dressed so casually.

Richard went downstairs, brushing one hand against the wall as he walked. His plan was to be the first one at breakfast. If he arrived before anyone else, no one would see that he was too weak to walk any distance without support. He had felt much better when he had decided to get up the day before. The ride probably **had** been too much for him in his present state. He hated feeling weak.

It worked. By the time Sir Thomas appeared, Richard sat on the bench at the table, large amounts of paper spread out before him.

"I'm glad to see you're up," Thomas announced.

"I'm glad to be up," Richard answered truthfully. "I'm also starving."

"Breakfast should be served in a few minutes," Thomas promised, sliding into the bench next to Richard. "What are you doing?"

Richard indicated the maps on the table. "Trying to figure out where those bandits have their hiding place," he explained. "I'm not going to have much luck at it, though. They had me blindfolded when they brought me there, and I was unconscious when they took me away – took me for dead, I presume. I'm just glad they didn't decide to bury me."

"What exactly happened out there?" Thomas asked, giving the maps a close scrutiny.

Richard never looked up. "Bandits caught me when I stopped by the river for a drink.  They overpowered me and dragged me and Darkmoon off to their hideout. They have a clearing somewhere in the forest, and they feel safe enough there to build stone houses! Threw me in their dungeon for the night, and in the morning they tried to get Darkmoon's secret out of me. The rest I can only guess." Suddenly Richard realized that he had forgotten to ask Blackthorne about the word to make Darkmoon obey another rider. He was not quite sure if he would have told him anyway.

"What do you think happened?" Thomas wanted to know, just as the serving maids started setting the table. One of them threw a happy, relieved look at Richard, who smiled back.

"I think one of them lost his temper and didn't stop hitting me against the wall until he thought he'd killed me. I don't know for sure: I lost consciousness sometime during the procedure and memory's kind of patchy."

"Your horse came back here that morning," Thomas explained.

Relief spread on Richard's face. "I'll go and apologize for not riding him for so long later," he said, taking in the food that filled the table by now. "That looks delicious," he decided, putting away the maps.

The smell of fresh food brought Eleanor, Armus and Cedric down the stairs. At once, the relative silence of the room was banished by the young people chatting animatedly among themselves.

"Richard!" Cedric greeted his older brother. "You didn't have to come down here. We would've brought you something to your room."

"Thank you, Cedric, but I'm quite capable of eating in the Great Hall with you." Richard returned, reaching for the last egg before it could vanish onto Armus' plate.

"Are you going to be up to a practice fight then?" Cedric wanted to know. The youngest Grey buttered a roll, only to have it stolen from his plate by his sister as soon as he put it away to reach for a sausage.

Richard shook his head. "Not until my ribs are healed, I fear," he declined. "I'll be awfully out of practice by then."

"Nonsense," Armus remarked. "You're not the first knight to be injured, little brother."

Richard made a face at him.

Sir Thomas leaned back in his chair, content with watching his children squabble. Things were back to normal at Covington Cross.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	8. Dances

 

Ten days later, the Grey family left their castle early in the morning, to attend a party Lord Hazelmere was giving. Elizabeth Leland, Sir Thomas' lover, had joined them. She was riding the golden palfrey Richard had brought back from his adventure with the bandits. He had asked Eleanor if she wanted the horse, but his sister had declined. Although she liked the golden animals, she did not usually ride palfreys. She had suggested to give it to Elizabeth instead, and Richard had taken her advice seriously.

Thomas caught himself watching Richard more closely than usually. His second son did seem to have recovered remarkably well from his injuries. Right now, Richard raced his brothers down the road, winning by at least a horse's length every time. He had taken up sword practice again, too. Thomas assumed that he would be dancing all night.

Not far from Lord Hazelmere's castle, they met another group of riders. Their leader fell in beside Thomas who, with slight regret, recognized John Mullens. He had not seen Mullens since Richard's return, and he had no wish to. Nevertheless, he forced himself to smile.

"Good day, Baron," he said. "Nice day for a party, is it not?"

Mullens looked slightly confused. "You bear losing your son well, Sir Thomas," he mumbled politely.

Now it was Thomas' turn to look confused. Then it dawned on him. "What do you mean?" he said, playing innocent.

"I mean, about young Richard's disappearance," Mullens clarified.

"Do I hear my name?" Richard's voice sounded behind him.

Mullens turned in the saddle. There, Richard Grey sat on the golden stallion Mullens wanted, looking very much alive. "Looks like you reappeared," Mullens said glumly. He turned his head away from Richard and, for the first time, noticed Elizabeth's horse. Rage glowed in his eyes for a moment, then he wheeled his stallion and returend to his own group without another word.

 

Slouching against a wall, Richard watched the dancers. He had spent hours on the dance floor and just decided to get a drink before rejoining them. Now he let his eyes rove, taking in all the young girls of an age to marry. Some of their fathers had suggested a marriage between him and them during the summer. He had found the reasons to be mostly the same, and he was resolved not to marry a girl because her father wanted his horse.

Armus had disappeared somewhere. Cedric and Alexandra Mullens were hidden in a corner, oblivious to anything that happened around them.

Eleanor was talking animatedly to a young man in red and black.

Richard hardly believed his eyes when he saw him. Right now, Eleanor was pulling him onto the dance floor. His resistance seemed to be playful at best.

Richard watched them until the dance was over. Then he sauntered over to them.

There could be no doubt. There, not quite three steps away from him, stood Blackthorne, dressed up in black leather and red silk.

"Richard!" Eleanor called out when she noticed her brother. "May I introduce Lord Joseph --"

Blackthorne turned around to Richard with a blinding smile and nodded at him

Richard reacted in kind. "We've met," he claimed. "And I would very much like to have a word with him. If you don't mind?"

"By all means," Eleanor said. "But please, return him to me unharmed."

Richard took Blackthorne by the arm, and led him outside. The other man did not resist.

Cold night air hit them. They stepped a few paces away from the castle before Blackthorne spoke.

"You wanted to talk about something, handsome?"

"What are you doing here, Blackthorne?" Richard asked. "Or should I say: Lord Joseph?" There was a cutting quality to his voice.

Blackthorne pulled his arm from Richard's grip. "I think it's time to make my reappearance in society. Let people get used to seeing me around. As to the other question – call me whatever you like."

"That is my sister Eleanor you've been dancing with," Richard explained without going further into Blackthorne's reasons for wanting to be present in society again. This was one of the moments when he almost believed in Armus' ghost theory, and he steered away from the topic.

"She's rather beautiful," Blackthorne announced. "I bet men crowd around her like flies around honey."

Richard shook his head. "Mostly she's too busy hunting, riding or practicing the crossbow. Most men are..." He was at a loss for a suitable word.

"Afraid of her?" Blackthorne suggested. A strange, distant look had come into his eyes, and Richard wondered what had caused it.

"She's been known to fall in love easily," Richard said in a low voice. "If you encourage her--"

Blackthorne did not let him finish his sentence. "I have no ambitions as far as your sister is concerned, Richard. We were merely talking and she asked for a dance. I did not think it very polite to refuse."

Something struck Richard as odd. After a moment he realized that Blackthorne had, for a change, actually used his name. He nodded. "I did not mean to imply--" He started.

"There's no need for you to embarrass yourself with meaningless apologies, handsome," Blackthorne interrupted him. "Just forget about it."

 

Returning from a ride with Darkmoon, Richard noticed that once again Lady Elizabeth seemed to be at Covington Cross. He wondered why she did not simply move in with them. She had her own rooms at the castle already, and she used Sir Thomas' bedchamber rather frequently. The Grey children had at first not been too keen on their father's new girlfriend, but by now, Elizabeth had secured herself a place in their hearts as well. Of course she had a castle of her own to tend to, and two children. Richard made a face. He could well imagine Lady Elizabeth becoming his new mother, but thinking of Adam and Leonore as siblings was simply impossible.

"Master Richard!" A voice called, just as Richard was about to unsaddle his stallion. "Master Richard, Lord Thomas asks you to go inside at once! I'll take your horse."

Reluctantly, Richard handed the reins and the saddle over to the young stableboy. What could possibly have happened that was so important that it could not wait another five minutes?

He took the stairs two at a time, noticing with satisfaction that it was as easy again as it had been before his encounter with the bandits.

The Great Hall was filled with the buzz of various conversations going on at once. Armus and Eleanor sat at the table, discussing something, while Cedric slouched in Sir Thomas' chair, throwing in comments every now and then. Elizabeth and Thomas stood by the cold hearth, talking to a servant.

Richard stopped in surprise when he saw Leonore and Adam Leland sit in two straight backed chairs, looking like they felt as uncomfortable with the Greys as the Greys did with them.

"Good afternoon," Richard said into the room, not addressing anyone specifically. He walked over to the Leland children and bowed politely to Adam before kissing Leonore's hand. Adam was about his age, his sister a few years younger. Richard hoped that neither of them would insist on starting a conversation with him. "Excuse me," he said, just for the case. "I have to inform my sister of a matter of importance."

He turned and left them as soon as Adam nodded his consent.

"At least one of them has manners," Leonore whispered to his brother, just loud enough for Richard to hear.

As soon as he had reached his brothers and sister, Thomas and Elizabeth had finished their instructing the servants, and turned to face the young people.

"Children," Thomas said, a broad smile on his face, "this is a happy day indeed, for I have asked Lady Elizabeth to marry me."

"And I have agreed to that," Elizabeth added.

Gasps of surprise came from their children. Much as they had been aware of the relationship between the two, and despite all of their discussions about how much more sensible it would be for both to move into the same castle, none of them had expected a marriage to happen any time soon.

Armus was the first who found his voice. "Congratulations, Father. Lady Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Armus," Elizabeth answered with a smile.

"Congratulations!" The rest of the children chimed in.

"Now, I know this leaves precious little time for preparations," Sir Thomas went on, "but we have decided to hold the celebration this autumn, before winter sets in. Any questions?"

Surprisingly, it was Leonore who spoke. "Are we going to move to Covington Cross?"

"No, dear," Elizabeth reassured her daughter.

"We have decided that Elizabeth, being the one of higher rank, should remain in her castle," Thomas explained. "I will move my things there right after the celebration. Armus--"

Armus perked up, looking immensely satisfied with what was bound to follow. "Yes, father?"

"Armus, once I am married, you will be Lord of Covington Cross. I feel sure that I am leaving my castle in capable hands."

Armus grinned broadly. "I will not disappoint you, father," he said.

"What about us?" Cedric cried, effectively ruining Armus' attempt at looking capable.

"Well," Thomas told his youngest son. "You and Eleanor will come with me to Leland castle. Richard is almost of age, so he will have to decide for himself."

Richard contemplated this for a moment. He did not want to leave Covington Cross. But would Covington Cross still be the same with Thomas, Cedric and Eleanor gone? He caught Leonore Leland cast him a pleading look, and resolved to stay anyway.

Eleanor and Cedric preferred not to think about moving to Leland Castle too much. Instead, they launched themselves into planning the feast and music for the wedding. Before long, Richard joined in, while Armus monopolized his father in a discussion of how the transfer of titles and lands should be conducted.

 

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	9. Consequences

Eleanor tossed aside the covers and jumped out of bed. She took in the crumpled dress she had left on the floor when she had finally gone to bed after the celebration, and sighed. One should not leave precious dresses lying on the floor, she told herself, no matter how tired one was.

She picked it up and brushed dust off it before walking to the window and drawing back the curtains.

Light spilled into the room. Eleanor turned slowly, looking at every detail in the room that was to be hers form now on. It was bigger than the one she had had at Covington Cross. More comfortable, too, even though it was hard to admit.

Eleanor chose breeches and a blue shirt for the day. Dresses were nice, but they were mostly suitable for celebrations, she thought.

When she was just about to leave her room, Leonore appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning, Eleanor," she chirped. "What a nice day, don't you think?"

Eleanor muttered something noncommittal.

Leonore took in her appearance, and looked utterly shocked by it. "Have your clothes not arrived yet?" she asked. "I'm so sorry. You can try and see if some of mine fit. If so, we can always share dresses, like real sisters!"

Eleanor sighed. "I'm sorry, Leonore," she said. "But my clothes have, indeed, arrived already. I am dressed like this because I find it more... comfortable, practical and because I decided to dress like this today."

Leonore's eyes grew huge. "But it is not decent!" she protested.

"Why not?" Eleanor wanted to know. "My clothes show less skin than yours do." She indicated the other girl's half-length sleeves.

"Everyone can see your legs," Leonore explained. "It's not proper this way!"

"Leonore," Eleanor said patiently. "I dress like this since I was twelve years old. I am not going to stop with it now. It is perfectly sufficient if I act like a lady when I am in company of strangers or at a party. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to make sure that father's horses arrived all right."

Lord Thomas had arranged for his warhorses and those mares that were going to have Darkmoon's foals the next year to be brought to Leland Castle. The rest of his animals would stay at Covington Cross under Armus' care.

"It is not a lady's task to tend to horses," Leonore claimed.

Eleanor walked past her. "Your mother was a widow for years, and had to take care of everything around the castle. Don't you think a woman should know these things so she can do them if she has to one day?" she asked back over her shoulder.

Leonore seemed to consider it for a second. "I'll accompany you to the stable," she said. "I promised mother to make sure you don't get lost. Besides, I really feel that you need a female friend to introduce you to womanly pastimes."

Eleanor barely resisted the urge to slap the girl.

 

The sun was high in the sky by the time Richard woke. He and Armus had ridden back from Leland castle after the wedding. It had been well past midnight when they had arrived at Covington Cross, and they had gone straight to their rooms, Armus now inhabiting the suite of the lord of the castle while Richard remained in his old room.

Armus was already up, sitting in Sir Thomas' former chair at the table and eating a hearty meal, when Richard came down into the great hall.

"Good morning, little brother," Armus greeted him.

"Morning, Armus," Richard returned, sitting on the bench and filling his own plate. Somehow, the table had a deserted look. Had they ever eaten with only two people in the room before? Richard thought not.

"Richard, about that horse," Armus said, looking up from his plate and fixing his younger brother with a stare.

Richard bristled. "Yes?" he shot back defensively. He knew that there was no love lost between Armus and Darkmoon. What would Armus do, now that he was lord of the castle? Would he insist that Darkmoon be moved into a stable of his own, maybe out of the castle?

"I want you to sell that horse," Armus said, as if he was just instructing Richard to oversee the shearing of sheep.

For a moment, Richard thought he had not heard correctly. "What?"

"I want you to sell that horse," Armus repeated patiently. "I will not have that demon-thing on my grounds."

Richard pushed away his plate, contents only half eaten. "Armus, I will not give Darkmoon away ," he said.

"Then you will have to leave this castle," Armus replied, still sounding as if he was talking about everyday chores. "I want nothing to do with witches, sorcerers, ghosts and their likes."

"Armus!" Richard protested. "Darkmoon is no ghost!"

Armus returned his attention to his plate. "If that horse goes, you can stay here. If you insist on keeping it, you will have to go as well."

Richard stared at his older brother for a few moments. Then he rose slowly from the table. "Excuse me, then," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "I have to pack."

"You have until tonight to leave my grounds," Armus announced, staring at Richard with coldness in his blue eyes. "If I catch that demon horse on my lands ever again, I will kill it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear," Richard answered, betrayal and hurt evident on his face.

He made himself take the stairs slowly, one at a time, in order not to make Armus think he was running from him.

While he grabbed a bag and stuffed shirts, breeches, doublets and leather armor into it, he wondered where he would go.

Elizabeth's castle was the first thing that came to his mind. She and Thomas would take him in, even though he had originally decided to stay at Covington Cross. But there were Leonore and Adam, and going there now did feel like begging to him.

Packing away his knives and a spare sword and axe, Richard thought of an alternative. He was only a second son, his father's castle had been given to his older brother, and Elizabeth's castle would go to Adam. He was not needed any longer to help Thomas run Covington Cross. He could follow William to the crusades.

He could also become a travelling knight, fighting and winning tournaments for money. He would just have to keep his hands off of jousting until he could afford a second horse.

He counted the money he had saved. It was little enough. He cursed himself for frequenting taverns and spending most of his allowance there as soon as he got it.

With his gleaming breastplate strapped on over leather, bags slung over his shoulder, his best sword at his belt, Richard ventured downstairs.

A stablehand led Darkmoon outside as soon as Richard left the castle. Armus must have informed him already.

Richard secured his things on the horse's back before mounting.

"We're off, Darkmoon," he told the stallion. "Off to adventures and great deeds. We'll have fun." It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

Armus never bothered to come out to say goodbye.

 

They left Covington Cross at a fast trot. Getting off of Armus' land was the first priority. Not trespassing on John Mullens' was the second. Richard was not too keen on meeting his father or anyone else of his family right now, so Leland Castle was out of the question as well.

Richard chose the opposite direction. As soon as he had left the land that belonged to Covington Cross, he slowed his horse to a walk. Darkmoon had more than enough to carry.

Richard let his thoughts wander, going over all the tournaments he knew of in the area in his mind. He had decided that the best way of earning money would indeed be winning sword-fighting contests. Unfortunately, the tournaments with the highest prices for the winners were already over. Winter was coming.

The sensible thing to do would be to find a place to spend the winter, then start with the tournaments next spring. Unfortunately, his money would never suffice to pay for lodgings until then.

Richard let Darkmoon chose the way, while he considered his choices.

He had been on the road for several hours, stopping only briefly for a quick meal, when he noticed that something about the forest looked remotely familiar to him. Had he ridden in circles and returned near Covington Cross?

He hated to think about that.

Serves you right for almost sleeping in the saddle, he told himself. A moment later he was not quite so sure about being in an area that was known to him. Forests did tend to look alike a lot after all, and he passed various rock formations that he was certain he had never seen before.

Suddenly, the peace and quiet of the forest was interrupted by riders rushing through the forest, never bothering to use the street.

"There he is!" one of them yelled.

Richard turned in the saddle, and saw a group of strangers heading directly towards him at a fast gallop. His first reaction would have been to outrace them. He was sure that Darkmoon could have managed that even with all the extra weight that he carried.

He forced himself to calm down. He had done nothing to warrant being chased by lawkeepers - or anyone else for that matter. Those people probably just wanted to know where the golden horse came from, and ask if he was selling.

Keeping his eyes fixed on his horse's ears as not to look like he was getting nervous, Richard tensed in anticipation of the upcoming conversation.

The hiss of a bow being loosed, followed closely by a sharp pain in Richard's thigh where it was not protected by armor, told him that he would have done well to act on instinct and flee as soon as he had spied the riders. Darkmoon reared, as surprise and pain made Richard pull hard at the reins for an instant.

Then they were upon him, circling him and trying to force him off the road. Richard's sword seemed to leap into his hand.

The strangers had drawn their weapons as well.

Darkmoon reared again when one of them brandished his sword too close to the stallion's head.

Richard felt that something disastrous was about to happen as soon as Darkmoon's hooves left the ground. Instead of falling down on all four legs again, Darkmoon tried to kick at one of the attackers with his forehooves. Fighting to stay on, Richard noticed in horror that his horse was going to overbalance. Frantically, he pulled his feet out of the stirrups, tossing away his sword at the same time. He jumped off his horse, hitting the ground hard and rolling away just in time to avoid being crushed under Darkmoon, as the stallion fell heavily.

Richard was still on the ground when he saw his horse scrambling to his feet. He seemed to be uninjured at first glance, surprising enough with all the baggage that was strapped to his saddle.

Darkmoon did not waste any more time, galloping off in fright, the strangers in hot pursuit.

With a surge of terror, Richard realized that he was lying in their way.

He jumped to his feet, almost falling again when his injured leg, from which only a broken arrow shaft protruded now, refused to take his weight.

Almost instantly the riders were upon him. They did not try to kill him with their weapons, but they did not turn their horses to swerve around him either. Richard was thrown to the ground again. He tried to curl up, make himself as small as he could and protect his head. Most of the horses jumped when they realized that there was a man on the ground.

One of them did not get quite far enough. Richard felt the impact as an explosion of pain in his right arm.

Biting his lips, he prayed that Darkmoon would outrace the strangers and somehow miraculously return to him.

Who had sent those people anyway? Mullens? He could not know yet that Richard had left Covington Cross! Armus? Richard refused to believe that.

The riders were gone, hoofbeats fading into nothing, and Richard uncurled slowly. Pain shot through his arm with every movement, and it seemed to multiply tenfold when he looked down and saw the awkward angle it had suddenly acquired.

Richard groaned. There would be no tournaments for him this season anymore. No fencing, certainly no archery. He would have to spend much of his money on a healer if he wanted to keep the use of that arm. The problem was – Darkmoon had run off with his money.

Richard felt like weeping in despair. Unless the horse returned on its own, which was highly unlikely, he would have to find Leland Castle on foot, which, considering the arrow wound, was not really an option. Going to Leland Castle was no option at all, if he could help it. There was no way he would be walking that far with part of an arrow stuck in his leg anyway. Maybe he could remove it and bandage the wound himself...

He tried that and found that the arrow would not budge. Maybe it was because he could only use one hand for it, or maybe the arrow was barbed.

Maybe he could just sit on a rock and wait for a traveller to come by, then claim he had been robbed, and repay the kind gentleman or lady for their kindness later.

If he did that, he would probably be robbed again. They would take and sell his armor, then leave him somewhere with nothing to prove his standing as a nobleman's son.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	10. Revelations

He was still trying to decide on a course of action, when hoofbeats sounded again.

He looked up, wondering if the strangers had returned with or without his horse to finish him off.

They did not.

Only two horses came down the path, one being led by the other's rider.

With a sigh of relief, Richard saw the bright gleam where sun reflected off golden fur.

"Evening, handsome," Blackthorne called cheerfully, bringing his horse to a halt just in front of Richard. "Seems like I'm rescuing you a lot these days."

"And I'm profoundly grateful for that," Richard returned, indicating the arrow shaft and his arm. "How'd you find me?"

Blackthorne dismounted. "Your horse came racing into my courtyard with all that stuff strapped to his back. I didn't think you sent him on purpose, so I decided to go looking for you. All I had to do was follow the road. What happened?"

Finally the pieces fell into place and Richard realized why part of this forest had seemed so familiar. He had ridden through it when Blackthorne had returned him to Covington Cross. Had that really been only two months before?

"Armus threw me out of Covington Cross," Richard explained. "I decided to try my luck at tournaments for a while until I had enough money to go to the crusades or something – Don't touch that!" he hissed when Blackthorne reached for his injured arm.

Blackthorne shook his head slightly. "You won't be fighting any tournaments for a while," he noticed unnecessarily. "Would you rather I leave your arm like that?"

"Hell, no!" Richard denied. He cursed himself for wearing mostly leather. If he had worn the full steel suit the way his father used to, his arm would probably be bruised but otherwise all right.

Blackthorne's hands were surprisingly gentle as they undid whatever pieces of his armor were in the way. "What are you planning on doing now?"

Richard shrugged. "Finding a place to wait out winter, I guess," he said. "I don't have much money, though."

"Leland Castle?" Blackthorne suggested.

"Out of the question," Richard answered at once. "I'll just sell some of my things and find myself a cheap inn."

Blackthorne looked thoughtful.

"How about Blackthorne castle?" he asked finally. He had not touched Richard's arm since he had gotten a look at it without the armor.

Richard looked up at him. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Why don't you stay at Blackthorne castle for the winter?" Blackthorne suggested. "I don't think it's too good an idea to set that arm right here and now. You'll be wanting something for the pain when I do it, and I don't usually have anything that strong in my saddlebags."

The young Grey looked at Blackthorne suspiciously. Did he seem to be uneasy about the offer he had just made? Had he done it only because he had felt it to be his duty?

If so, it did not change the fact that Richard needed a place to stay. Blackthorne castle would be quite perfect, and once his arm healed, he could offer help with the work. He nodded. "I'll take you up on that offer."

 

Sitting in a chair at the table in what Blackthorne used as his great hall, Richard contemplated what he had seen of the un-ruined part of the castle so far. It was bigger than he had expected. Blackthorne had promised a tour of it once Richard could walk without too much pain. Right now, the younger man had yet to muster enough courage to get up and into the rooms Blackthorne had declared his for the time of his stay. He was still sitting where he had been deposited when they had first entered the castle.

Blackthorne was busy setting the table and bringing in a cold supper. He had decided not to bother with cooking tonight, another thing that Richard was grateful for. He did not feel up to handling a spoon or knife with his left hand now. Whatever it was that Blackthorne had given him to dull the pain left him feeling slightly dizzy and uncoordinated. It was also just about to stop working, Richard noticed, wishing he had retired to 'his' rooms already.

"Will you tell me how you got to live here?" Richard asked Blackthorne, when he finally sat at the table as well. "Are you really a Blackthorne?"

Blackthorne nodded. "My mother was Claire Blackthorne, the youngest sister of Jonathan Blackthorne, the man whose ghost your brother believes me to be. I'm the last with any real Blackthorne blood, I guess."  
Richard stared at him over the table. "How did you escape the slaughter when Blackthorne Castle was attacked?"

"I didn't," Blackthorne said.

Richard wondered, if he had just admitted to being a ghost after all.

"I wasn't even born then," the older man went on. "One of the attackers decided that he liked Jonathan Blackthorne's sister. He abducted her, took her home with him and kept her virtually as a prisoner."

Richard stopped eating. He could not take his eyes off Blackthorne, and he could not eat very well without glancing at his plate every now and then.

"He wasn't unkind, as long as she obeyed and did whatever he asked of her. When she was found to be with child, he even married her. Without the big celebration and all that usually accompanies marriages, of course."

Richard nodded. He understood.

"I was three years old when my mother managed to flee from her husband's castle. He had never allowed her to venture outside. The world thought her to be dead. She returned to the ruins of Blackthorne castle, now on Lord Earlcastle's grounds, and made herself comfortable. I grew up here, hiding from the world and my father – especially my father. My mother was convinced that he would sooner or later kill her – and me. He had grown increasingly hostile against her after I was born. Then he fell in love with another girl, and wanted her out of the way. The castle was already said to be haunted, and my mother did her best to promote those stories. She also made sure that no one could tell from the outside that people were living here. There's a small vegetable patch where an inner courtyard used to be, but to get there, people would have to enter the building and make their way through the ruins.

"My Lord Earlcastle found out about us when I was seven. Found out that we were living here, I mean. He never knew who we really were. Assumed my mother ran away or was cast out by her family because she'd not been married when I was born, or something like that. She was rather pretty, and the Lord had pity with her and her child. He let us live here in peace. She also had started embroidery while with my father, to pass the days when he would not visit her. The Lord saw the things she had made and offered to buy some for his wife. That way we acquired a little money."

"What about the horses?" Richard asked, curious. "Where did she get those from? The golden ones, I mean."

Blackthorne started clearing the table. "My mother refused to have anything to do with horses. She said it was her brother's vanity concerning them that brought disaster down on the Blackthornes. What she wanted was revenge on the man who had stolen her and killed her family. She never got it, you know. She died ten years ago, just after I turned fifteen.

"I had found my uncle's books long ago, and dreamed of recreating that golden breed. Once I was on my own, I decided to try my luck. Lord Jonathan kept detailed books on the horses he had, including the ones he gave away. Sometimes, a foal would be born that did not have the golden color he wanted, and he'd give it away without gelding it first, or even if it was a mare. I talked to the people around, locating the offspring of those horses. They're fine animals, even if they don't have the golden fur. I bought some, traded for others, and sometimes I just begged the current owner to allow a stallion to cover one of my mares. I found that I got a few animals that had either the golden fur or the spirit and stamina of the original Blackthorne horses, but never both in one animal. Lightning was one of those.

"Four years ago, in a dark moon night, a colt was born that changed everything for me. He had the golden color, and he seemed to be able to run without ever getting tired. I knew he would be special even when he was but a yearling. I decided to try again with his parents, and got another horse like him. He's fathered a few nice foals himself. Some of them are chestnuts, but showing all signs of becoming good racing horses. I'll try to sell at least some of them next spring. Most of his offspring did inherit the golden color. His parents produced a black colt last year, and a golden filly this year. In a few years, the golden horses should be back for good."

Richard put his good hand on the table to push himself up. He tentatively made a few steps. "Why did you give Darkmoon away?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Blackthorne answered, offering his arm to help Richard to the hastily prepared guest room.

"I think," Richard said thoughtfully, "that you did it because I was racing John Mullens' man that day. You did not want him to win that race."

"Aye," Blackthorne agreed. "And you deserved to keep the horse for that. It's the beginning of my revenge against the ones who had a part in the raid of Blackthorne Castle back then."

Richard was not surprised to hear that Mullens had been with the attackers. "You weren't even alive then," he remarked. "Why do you want to take revenge?"

Blackthorne pushed open the door to Richard's room. "I swore an oath to my mother, Richard, that I would not rest until her family has been avenged. I will not break it."

Richard nodded, sinking onto the bed with a grateful sigh.

"Don't wander around the castle just yet," Blackthorne warned him. "You might get lost, or venture into some unstable part of it by accident."

"Of course," Richard promised. "I won't make that mistake twice."

Blackthorne grinned at him. "Great," he said. "Want me to check on you before I go to bed later?"

"No," the younger man declined, carefully pulling his shirt over his broken arm. "I think I'll sleep until tomorrow morning."

"Good night then," Blackthorne said, turning around to leave the room.

When he had reached the door, Richard called out for him again. "Blackthorne?"

The other man stopped, looking back at Richard over his shoulder expectantly.

"Are you John Mullens' son?" Richard asked, anticipating a burst of rage from the ever unpredictable Blackthorne.

Instead, Blackthorne's eyebrows rose in surprise. "No," he said flatly.

"Oh," Richard said. "Forget that I asked, then."

Blackthorne stood in the door for another moment. "I thought you had figured it out when I caught you standing in that room the other time you were here."

Richard frowned, trying to remember if there was something he had not thought important back then. Something important that he had failed to acknowledge...

Blackthorne still waited, watching Richard in silence for what seemed to be an eternity, before speaking again. "I'm John Mullens' daughter."

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	11. Settling In

Eleanor hated riding with Leonore Leland. It meant keeping the horses at a walk, a slow trot at best, never letting them run properly.  
"Let's ride over there," Eleanor said, pointing right at a fork in the road.

Leonore hesitated. "I don't think we should do that," she said. "We'd leave mother's grounds."

"Oh come on," Eleanor returned impatiently. "It's not like we were riding onto Mullens' land! Whoever it belongs to is not an enemy of your family, is he?"

"No." Leonore shook her head. "Actually I think he is quite fond of mother. I would still rather stay on our grounds."

"Nonsense!" Eleanor decided. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to." She hoped the other girl would prefer to stay behind. It would give her a chance to let Damascus race down the road until they both felt better. She could feel her horse's tension under her.

With a sigh, Leonore turned her horse in the direction Eleanor had chosen. "All right then," she said.

For a few minutes they rode silently. Then, it was Leonore who spoke again. "You should really stop riding astride," she said. "Sidesaddle is much more womanly, and it looks so much more elegant."

"I don't want to look elegant, Leonore," Eleanor explained. "I want to ride. I'd be riding a good deal faster right now if I didn't have to wait for you!" She knew she should not speak to her stepsister like that, but she could not help it.

Leonore urged her palfrey to a faster gait. "Are you happy now?" she asked Eleanor.

Eleanor did not reply. Damascus hardly picked up speed, and still stayed easily abreast of Leonore's gelding.

"What's down there?" Eleanor asked, when they reached a path that had a very abandoned look to it some time later.

Leonore paled. "You're not going to ride there, are you?" she asked, fright clear in her voice.

"Why not?" Eleanor returned, resolved to ride down that path if it meant getting rid of Leonore.

"The ruins of Blackthorne castle are down there!" Leonore whispered.

Now Eleanor was hooked. That road was supposed to lead to the ruins she had heard so much of lately? She had to see them! "I'd like to go there," she said slowly.

"You can't!" Leonore refused. "They're supposed to be haunted!"

Eleanor favored the younger girl with a scathing look. "There is no such a thing as ghosts," she said firmly. "I'll have a look at the ruins and return. You can wait here, if you want to."

Without looking back, she urged Damascus down the path.

Soon, the road had all but disappeared. Eleanor was not even sure she was still riding into the right direction, but she would not return before she had had a good look at Blackthorne Castle – or what was left of it.

And there it rose in front of her, still standing towers pointing into the sky. It was big – bigger than Eleanor had ever imagined.

From where she and Damascus stood, Eleanor could see part of the courtyard.

Her hands tensed on the reins when she spied movement in the ruins of the castle. Who was there? Ghosts? Unlikely.

Scavengers? Hardly, after 26 years!

A figure appeared. It was a man, looking remarkably like Richard, except that Richard was at Covington Cross, and this man walked with a pronounced limp.

Well, it was certainly not Jonathan Blackthorne's ghost. He would have had short, straight black hair, while this stranger had dark blonde curls, just like Richard.

Eleanor considered riding over and greeting the man for a moment, then decided otherwise and turned Damascus. If she did not catch up with Leonore before she reached Leland Castle, the girl would probably tell her mother and Eleanor's father that Eleanor had left her after dragging her off Lady Elizabeth's grounds. Then she'd be in for trouble. She wanted to avoid that.

Maybe she could return here later that day, when she did not have that annoying girl at her side.

 

Richard found Blackthorne in the stables, grooming a chestnut. They had not spoken since she had left his room after her unexpected announcement, leaving Richard alone with his thoughts.

Then he had slept late into the morning, and it had taken some time until he was bored enough to get out of bed. He dressed and went in search of his host, every step sending a stab of pain through his thigh.

Blackthorne turned when she heard him enter. Silently, she watched him come over to her. "Sit," she said instead of a greeting, indicating an upturned crate that she had obviously used earlier to reach a freshly patched place in the wooden ceiling. He obeyed, grateful to get his weight off the injured leg.

"Good morning," Blackthorne said when Richard was seated. "I trust you slept well?"

Richard frowned. Was she going to act as if nothing had happened? Then it occurred to him that for her, nothing had. Now that he looked for it, her face looked more female than when he had still taken her to be a man, and her movements often reminded him of his sister Eleanor. Yes, she was a woman all right. A woman who had cut her hair and who hid her breasts to pass as a man. "Morning," Richard finally answered. "And yes, thank you."

She resumed grooming the horse.

"Will you tell me your name?" Richard asked after a few moments. "Your real name?"

"Josephine Blackthorne," she answered, never looking up from her work. "Hand me the other brush?"

Richard looked around, until he saw the requested item, and, after a moment's thought, tossed it to her. She caught it easily in one hand.

"I take it you've gotten over last night's shock?" she asked innocently.

"Sure," Richard claimed, trying to find a more comfortable position on the crate. "Can I help with the work somehow?"

Blackthorne looked at him, obviously trying to decide if he really meant it. "When your leg's better," she decided at last. "The only work I have right now that you could do while sitting is cleaning tack, and I don't think that works very well one-handedly."

Richard considered it, and nodded. He didn't think so either.

"I don't think you're up to riding yet," Blackthorne went on. "But I have to train my horses. You can watch if you like to."

 

"That's the last one for today," Blackthorne announced, dismounting from the horse she'd been riding on a patch of grass that served her as pasture and training ground. "We'll have to change if we want to be in time for the party."

Richard climbed off the fence and made a face at her when she looked away. She would insist on attending the more important social gatherings – disguised as a man, of course. Tonight Richard would find out how his leg responded to an hour-long ride. He hadn't been on a horse since he had come here.

They had talked their options through during one of the last evenings. Richard found that he rather enjoyed sitting at the fireplace in the so-called great hall, talking to Blackthorne about anything that might come up. Horses featured often in their conversations, but they could never complain of a lack of things to talk about even without that.

Richard had reluctantly decided to make an appearance at the celebration as well. He felt uneasy about it. His father would surely be there, as well as Armus. But he had to face them sometime, and sooner was probably better than later. He could just refuse to tell them where he was staying. If Armus found out, he would certainly have nothing to do with him ever again.

While Blackthorne went to stable the horse, Richard returned to his room. Laying out the clothes he had brought, he wondered what to wear for the night. Not planning on going to a celebration anytime soon, he had neglected to bring anything that was really fit for one. The things he had packed were serviceable, mostly cotton and leather.

He chose a white shirt over black breeches, and a studded black leather jerkin. It would have to do.

He glanced at the leather wrist guards lying around unused. The thought of wearing one on his splinted arm made him wince in imagined pain, and there was no way he could lace the left one when he had only the use of his left hand. Or maybe he could ask Blackthorne to--

When he turned to face the door, she was standing there, frowning at him.

Richard started.

"You could have knocked, you know," he said. "I could have been naked!"

Blackthorne grinned. "You left the door open," she said with a reproachful look. "Besides, you're decently dressed, as far as I can see. You're not going to go in that, are you?"

Richard looked down on himself, then at his host. She wore white silk tonight, with a doublet of fine, dyed leather for contrast. The dagger in her belt looked almost ceremonial, and a dark blue cape already fell from her shoulders. Richard caught himself imagining her in one of the splendid dresses Lady Elizabeth had bought for Eleanor.

"I don't have anything else," he said with a shrug, feeling that he looked very much like a peasant next to Blackthorne's silk and leather splendor.

Blackthorne's eyes wandered slowly over Richard's wardrobe. "Come," she said finally. "I think I may have something for you."

Curious, Richard followed her into a room that he had never entered before. He had stuck to his promise not to prowl the castle on his own, keeping to the places she showed him.

This room was obviously used to store unused things. Boxes of all sizes stood everywhere, stacked high against the walls, and blocking most of the floor.

Blackthorne walked up to one, opening it quickly, and reaching inside to pull out something that looked suspiciously like folded cloth.

Richard watched, as she produced fine silk and velvet clothes, all of them slightly out-fashioned, but all acceptable.

"These were my uncle's things," she explained. "Try and see if something fits. I know they're old, but they're better than going to a party looking like you just came in from the fields. No offense intended."

Richard reached for a dark green shirt and matching breeches, admiring the fine cloth. Sir Thomas was not exactly poor, but these things had to cost more than he would ever have been willing or able to spend on clothes. He looked at Blackthorne, who was still standing there, looking at him expectantly.

"Would you--" he started, unsure of how to phrase his request.

She looked a question mark at him, then understanding dawned on her face. "All right, all right," she said. "I'll turn around. But," she did as she promised, "if you think I've never seen a man before, you're mistaken. I even know quite well how you're built under all that cloth."

Richard choked, finally realizing how the woman he had seen during the short breaks in his drugged sleep the first time he had been at this castle fit into the picture. Somehow, he had never thought about the fact that she had been the one who had undressed him, cleaned him and tended his wounds when he had been near death after his stay at the bandit's lair.

"That's different," he claimed finally. "You were acting as a healer then!"

"Whatever," Blackthorne said, walking out of the room without turning back. "I'll saddle the horses while you take your pick. I hope you find something that fits."

Twenty minutes later, Richard came out into the courtyard, glad to have chosen a wool cloak over his silk clothes. While the days were still warm, evenings and nights got rather cold.

Blackthorne waited for him, Darkmoon's reins in one hand, those of the only other fully trained golden stallion in the other. She called the horse Spirit.

Richard held out his good hand to her. The sleeves had laces at the wrist, and, as his right hand was effectively immobilized by the splints on his arm, he could not tie the laces very well on his own.

Blackthorne reached out to do it for him.

"You look good," she noticed.

Richard tugged on his shirt. "A bit too wide around the shoulders," he remarked.

"It's still better than wearing work clothes to the party," Blackthorne decided. "You look absolutely stunning, Richard. Very... handsome."

Richard's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "You keep saying that," he said.

The ride was more painful than Richard had expected, but he kept silent about it. He had declined when Blackthorne had offered to use a carriage, and he did not want to hear her say "I told you so."

 

Thomas and Elizabeth Grey enjoyed themselves at the celebration, dancing until they both had to stop for a drink. Leonore and Adam stuck to polite conversation with the other guests, while Eleanor and Cedric had disappeared somewhere.

 Suddenly, Thomas spotted Armus, trying to act the Lord of Covington Cross among a group of young women. He wove his way to his son, touching his arm slightly to get his attention.

"Father," Armus greeted him. "I expected to meet you here. How are you? How's Lady Elizabeth?"

"We're fine, Armus," Thomas assured him. "Leland castle is quite beautiful. Is everything all right at Covington Cross?"

Armus made a face. It was none of Thomas' business anymore, but he assumed his father would take some time before he stopped feeling Covington Cross was his castle. "Fine, fine," Armus told his father. "There's not that much to be done this close to winter."

Thomas nodded. "Where's Richard?"

Armus shrugged. "Dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Thomas asked, sounding slightly worried.

With a deep sigh, Armus answered: "We had a fight, about a week ago. He just bundled up some clothes and left."

Thomas stared at his oldest son. "Was it about Darkmoon?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice down.

Armus' eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape route. "That demon horse was part of the argument, yes."

Before Thomas could say anything more, Armus was rescued by a girl of hardly twenty years, who looked at him with big, innocently pleading eyes. "Sir Armus!" She cried when she saw him. "Will you come with me, please? You have to tell us about your time at the crusades! Please!"

Armus cast a short look at Thomas. "Excuse me, father," he said."We'll talk later," and allowed himself to be led away by Penelope Hastings.

Thomas returned to Elizabeth, trying not to look too depressed.

He failed completely.

"What's wrong, Thomas?" his wife asked him as soon as she caught sight of her husband.

Thomas sighed. "Armus and Richard fought," he said in a low voice. "Looks like Richard ran off in anger. Who knows what kind of trouble that boy has gotten into now."

"Richard is a grown man, Thomas," Elizabeth tried to reassure him. "He is perfectly capable of looking after himself. Maybe it's the best for him if he starts a life on his own. You cannot expect him to be Armus' shadow for the rest of his life!"

"I know that, Elizabeth!" Thomas said, his voice sounding a bit sharper than he had intended. "I just wish I knew what he's up to now."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up while she looked at a place somewhere behind Thomas' shoulder. "Then why don't you ask him?" she said gently. "There he comes."

Thomas whirled around.

Someone had just entered the hall, and moved at once to the tables where refreshments were offered. He looked into the opposite direction, but Thomas had only to see that unruly head of dark blonde curls to recognize his second son.

"Excuse me, Elizabeth," Thomas said to his wife, swiftly crossing the room to meet Richard.

The young man turned when he felt someone standing behind him. "Good evening, Father," he acknowledged Thomas' presence.

"Richard!" Thomas sounded slightly anxious. "What happened?"

Richard shrugged the question off. "I fell off my horse," he said calmly. "I'll be all right."

A surprised "What?" escaped Thomas, before he finally registered that Richard had his right arm in a sling. "Oh. I'm sorry. I'm sure you will. What happened at Covington Cross?"

Richard's face darkened. "Had a fight with Armus," he said neutrally.

"So Armus said," Thomas answered. "Why did you leave? Was it that bad? You've had disagreements before!"

Sipping from his wine glass, Richard took his time with his answer. "Father, I think I need to gain a name of my own. I cannot stay at Covington Cross, where I'd only be hardly more than a nuisance the Lord has to put up with. Every man needs a chance to prove himself sooner or later, don't you think?"

"You could have come to Leland Castle," Thomas said. He knew his son was right in a way. He had served in the crusades, gaining the title of a knight. So had Armus, and so did William right now. Richard had always stayed with him, even after he had been knighted, helping Thomas to manage the estates of Covington Cross. It was his right to leave his home if he wanted to have his share of adventuring and knighthood.

Richard's eyes looked calmly into his father's. He had played through this conversation in his mind often enough since he had decided to accompany Blackthorne to the party. "I do not want to depend on anyone anymore," he explained. "I do not want to beg."

Thomas shook his head. "It would not have been begging, Richard." he said, reproach in his voice. "We are your family."

"Have you never felt the need to make do without all your father could give you?" Richard asked.

Thomas swallowed the response that first sprang to his mind. He was too honest to deny it. "You are depending on someone, though," he remarked, his eyes roaming over Richard's fine clothes. "Who gave you those things?"

"A friend," Richard said, keeping his voice down. "And I will repay him for everything once the tournaments start again next year."

"What if it doesn't work out?" Thomas asked with a worried tone. "I know you're good, Richard, but there may always be someone better. What if your arm doesn't heal well enough? What if--"

Richard cut him off. "I can always fight left-handed," he claimed. "Or maybe I'll try to find another job. I'm quite sure my friend could use a groom." He just said it without thinking about it, because it was the first thing that came to his mind.

The effect on Sir Thomas was remarkable. His eyes grew huge, and he stared at Richard as if his son had just grown a second head. "My son is going to become a common laborer?" he choked out finally.

"It's honest work," Richard said, feeling the need to defend himself although he had never seriously considered it as an option. "Besides, can't we just wait and see how things look next spring? I'll also have half of Darkmoon's foals by then. You're not going to go back on our deal, are you?"

"Of course not!" Thomas almost yelled.

Richard smiled. "I didn't think so. I'll be fine, father. Really, I will. I just need some time to figure out what I want to do with my life."

Thomas forced himself to relax and patted his son's arm affectionately. "You know you can always come to me if you're in trouble," he said.

Richard watched him turn around and walk back to Lady Elizabeth, who was still waiting for him where he had left her. "I know," he whispered to no one in particular.

A long time later, his father finally realized what had seemed to be the oddest thing about Richard. Sir Thomas Grey was sure that he had seen those clothes somewhere before.

 

The next evening, Richard was treated with a rare sight when he entered the great hall at Blackthorne castle with a book in his good hand.

Blackthorne was busy laying out needles, thread and pieces of clothing.

"What are you doing?" Richard asked, sitting in a comfortable chair near the fireplace.

"Shouldn't be too difficult to change my uncle's things so they'll fit you perfectly," she explained, threading her needle. "Some of them might still be rather fashionable with only a few alterations."

"You don't have to do that," Richard said, watching her without opening his book.

"I know." She started undoing a seam. "But I'd like to. Those clothes are too good to spend the rest of their natural lifespan in boxes, and there are certainly more of them than I could ever wear. You know how to wear good clothes. You should have them."

"There's no secret to wearing clothes," Richard laughed.

Blackthorne never looked up from her work. "I've seen people who look like they are wearing a costume when they're dressed in working clothes. I've seen others who are uncomfortable when dressed up in fine clothes for a party, and some who look absolutely ridiculous in silk. You can get away with wearing both.

Richard thought about it for a moment, trying to find a suitable response. "I'm not taking alms," was the only thing he could come up with.

Blackthorne looked at him over her work. "I did not think you would," she answered seriously. "May I suggest that, in exchange for a proper wardrobe for yourself, you'll teach me how to properly use a sword?"

"What?" Richard was surprised. "Don't you know that already?"

Blackthorne stared at him. "I've learned to shoot the longbow and crossbow. I've learned to wrestle and fight with a knife with the boys from the local villages. But all I know about swordfighting is whatever I've read. I've tried to do some practice on my own, but I've never had someone to practice with. Peasants don't use swords, and nobles don't train with supposed commoners."

Richard stared back, when another question jumped into his head. "Have you always disguised yourself as a boy?" he asked.

With a half-shrug, Blackthorne resumed her work. "Life out here in the forest is dangerous enough for a boy. A girl, alone with her mother, would never live to her fifteenth birthday outside of a village. There are outlaws, you know."

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	12. Eddy

By the end of the next week, Eleanor had developed a habit of rising before the sun, racing down into the stables and saddle Damascus for an early morning ride. She'd return by the time breakfast was served, where she had to put up with Leonore's attempts at turning her into a lady. Sir Thomas had only laughed when she had complained to him, suggesting that, growing up with three brothers in the castle, Eleanor just needed practice in dealing with a sister.

Lady Elizabeth had been more sympathetic, but she had also asked Eleanor to try and make Leonore a bit more self-reliant. The young women were extremes that did not seem to mix very well, though.

Eleanor almost considered the option of finding herself a husband. Almost.

She had not returned to Blackthorne castle. She had met Richard at the celebration. He'd still been limping slightly, and, when asked, told her there had been a riding accident. She had also wanted to know where he was staying, and he had avoided giving a straight answer by telling her "with a friend."

Assuming that he had sought shelter in the ruins of Blackthorne castle and did not want anyone of his family to know, she had accepted his explanation. She gave the ruins a wide berth when riding with Leonore, and she never passed too closely by them when she was alone either. She did not want to embarrass her brother.

The morning air was cool, a sharp wind whipping her hair around her face whenever strands of it escaped from her braid.

Damascus obviously enjoyed these wild morning rides as much as Eleanor did. Horse and rider were so lost in the wild race down a path in the forest, that they almost saw the prone figure on the ground too late.

Eleanor tore at the reins, and her horse reared, coming down hard on all four legs only scant inches away from the head of a man.

The young woman slid from the saddle, wrapping the reins around a low hanging branch before kneeling on the ground, hand on the hilt of her sword. She'd been fooled once before by kidnappers who had made it look like some accident had happened.

This time, it seemed to be for real, though. Blood had seeped through the stranger's dark hair in one place, and when she turned him around carefully, he just started to move.

Blinking into the early morning sun groggily, he needed a moment to focus on Eleanor's face.

"I'll happily offer myself to the bandits again anytime, if that's what it takes to meet such a beautiful woman," he mumbled.

Eleanor tried to decide if he was trying to be funny. He was dressed in filthy rags, but he did not talk like a peasant. Quite the opposite. His words were carefully enunciated.

The stranger pushed himself up into a sitting position, one of his hands rising to his head almost instantly. "Ouch," he said, while he fingered the place where blood had dried in his hair.

"Have you been robbed?" Eleanor asked, never taking her hand off of her sword.

He nodded, taking the things he was wearing. "Looks to me like they've taken everything, down to my clothes and boots. Serves me right for being so stupid, I assume."

Eleanor moved back to allow the stranger to rise. He did so slowly, reassuring himself that he was still in one piece. "What's your name, Sir?" Eleanor asked. "And why do you say you were stupid?"

"Ed—Eddy," the man said. "Call me Eddy. I kind of--" He seemed unsure of what word to use. "ran away from home," he finally decided.

The young woman looked him over. Standing, he was as tall as Armus, though lean and lithe where her brother had the bulk of a cook. Blue eyes twinkled mischievously from a face that was framed by dark brown hair and a beard that had, not long ago, been carefully trimmed and only recently started to grow wherever it liked. Eleanor decided that he would be handsome once he cleaned himself up. He looked to be at least Armus' age.

"Aren't you a bit too old to be running away from home?" She asked him.

Eddy shrugged. "I guess so," he said. "It was stupid. Still, I'm not returning. My old man had decided I've been a bachelor for too long already, and arranged a marriage for me."

Eleanor winced in sympathy. She had run away for a very similar reason. A marriage between her and the son of her father's enemy Mullens had been arranged.

"Do you not like the girl?"

"Oh, I like her a lot," Eddy answered. "I grew up with her. She's my cousin. I just can't--" He took a few tentative steps, "imagine her as my wife."

"Where are you going to go now?" Eleanor wanted to know.

Another shrug. "I don't know. Back home to face my fate, probably. I've been robbed of my horse, my money, my clothes, my weapons, and winter is almost here – what else is there that I can do?"

A look of despair appeared on his face, and Eleanor made a decision quickly. "Maybe I know a place where you can wait out the winter," she said. "Unless you really prefer going home to your father."

"I'm not coming to any castle with you," Eddy said with determination. "Returning home on my own I might be able to stand. Being returned by your father or his men would be too much."

Eleanor shook his head. "I think that someone else is waiting out the winter at a certain place in this forest," she explained. "I don't think he'll mind the company."

 

Richard tied the laces at his wrists, glad to be finally able to dress properly again on his own. Blackthorne had gone through her uncle's armor and discovered forearm guards made of thick, unyielding leather. In contrast to the short wrist guards Richard preferred to wear, these were supposed to cover and protect the complete area between a man's wrist and his elbow. One of them was now strapped tightly to Richard's right arm under his sleeve, almost as good as the wooden splints and much more comfortable, as it allowed him to move his hand normally again. He had just managed to talk Blackthorne into going through with it the night before, and he could hardly wait to finally do something besides grooming horses and reading books. Even cleaning tack sounded like an improvement to him. He knew she would not let him on one of her young horses before his arm had fully healed, but maybe she would accept his help with some of those that had already had some training...

Richard's eyes moved across the bedroom he had moved into three days ago. He had not planned for this to happen, and neither had Blackthorne. It had just... _happened_ somehow. One moment he'd been standing here, trying on new clothes, complaining about the amount of time it took, and the next he'd found himself kissing the woman he shared the castle with, and being kissed back by her.

She had not lied about knowing what men looked like, as he had found out that very night. He still wondered where she had gotten her experience if she had always posed as a man.

Then again, there were dresses in her wardrobe, and she probably knew how to act the lady if she chose to. Eleanor could do it ever since Lady Elizabeth had taught her.

Richard walked over to the "great hall," looking forward to being able to handle knife and fork at once again.

He stopped by the kitchen on his way, to see if he could give his host and lover a hand, only to see that she'd already left.

"Morning, Blackthorne," he greeted her when he entered the hall.

"Morning, handsome," she returned. Nothing had changed their manner of addressing each other.

They had just sat down at the table, when the door burst open.

A man in a peasant's clothes stood there, looking like he had just run a long way. "Begging yer pardon," he panted. "But you have to come! Miller's donkey bolted and threw the cart, and it landed on his leg—looks pretty bad, too. Who's he?" He stared at Richard with a hostile look in his eyes.

"A friend," Blackthorne said, rising from the table again. She walked to a corner where she kept a number of bags, and slung one over her shoulder.

Richard followed her. "Who's that?" he asked in a low voice.

"Gary Reeve," she answered. "He helped my mother once. He's the only person from the village who knows who the ghosts in this castle really are. The others know I'm there, somewhere in the forest, but they don't know where exactly. He keeps his mouth shut about it, and in exchange, he can collect me whenever one of the villagers needs help. My mother had the same deal with him." She pointed towards the door. "You coming along?"

Richard looked at the impatient man in the doorway, then nodded.

"Let's go then," Blackthorne said, following the Reeve outside.

"Why don't they get a real healer?" Richard wanted to know when they crossed the courtyard to get horses from the stables. "No offense," he added with a look at Blackthorne.

"They can't afford a real healer," the woman answered, never bothering to saddle her horse. Richard had never before ridden Darkmoon bareback, but, not wanting to keep them waiting too long, he decided to try anyway. He cursed himself for once again forgetting about how hard a peasant's life really was.

 

Damascus walked slowly into the courtyard, each step ringing loudly on the cobblestones.

Eleanor dismounted, holding out a hand to help Eddy down more out of politeness than because it was necessary. She was quite sure that a good meal and a bath was all the man needed.

The young woman looked around. Nothing she could see suggested that her brother had actually made himself at home here.

"Richard?" she called out after a moment's hesitation. "Are you here? It's Eleanor!"

She got no answer.

Eddy walked across the courtyard to examine some of the more stable looking buildings. Every door that he tried was firmly bolted from the inside.

"Yes, someone's most definitely living here," he said, shivering in the cold and wrapping the cloak Eleanor had given him more tightly around himself. The rags the bandits had left him with were hardly any protection in this weather at all.

"This one's open," Eleanor announced, after she had tried several doors herself. "Let's just leave Damascus where he won't be stolen and wait for Richard's return, shall we?"

Eddy nodded, and she led her horse to a patch that could not be seen easily from the main courtyard. Then, both entered the castle.

The inside seemed to be in better repair than the outside. They did not take long to discover a rather comfortable room with a table that looked like breakfast had been cut short and abandoned in haste.

The table was set for two persons.

"Who else is living here?" Eddy asked, sitting in a chair and barely resisting the urge to help himself to a quick meal. He had not eaten in almost 24 hours.

Eleanor shrugged. "I don't know." She said. She was getting nervous. She was sure it had been Richard she had seen here. Someone was living here, that much was clear. But who was the second person?

They did not have to wait long to find out. Steps and voices outside announced the return of the inhabitants of these ruins. One of the voices definitely belonged to Richard.

The door was pushed open, and a man appeared in it, freezing in surprise when he saw his unbidden guests. "Eleanor Grey!" He called out. "What are you doing here?"

"Eleanor?" Richard asked somewhere behind the man in the doorway. "Why is _she_ here?"

"Lord Joseph!" Eleanor was no less surprised. "What are you--" She interrupted herself, not sure what to say.

Blackthorne looked from Eleanor to the stranger in her chair. "I happen to live here." She explained. "Now, would you kindly tell me why you're here and who that gentleman is?" Blackthorne stepped into the room. Richard followed, walking right up to Eleanor, and fixing his sister with a deadly stare.

Feeling incredibly stupid, Eleanor explained.

When she was finished, Blackthorne sighed. "I'm not used to entertaining so many guests at once." She said. "I'm not used to entertaining guests at all. If 'Eddy' doesn't mind the lack of comfort, I won't chase him away. IF he behaves, that is."

Eddy nodded eagerly. He had no intention of misbehaving.

"Thank you, Lord Joseph," Eleanor said with a slight curtsey.

Eddy frowned at her. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"I said: Thank you, Lord Joseph." Eleanor repeated. "It's the polite thing to do."

The man in rags stared at her, then at Blackthorne. "If that's a man, then I'm the pope." he declared finally. "No offense." He added to Blackthorne.

She seemed to be torn between anger and laughter. When she was finally sure that she had her voice under control again, she spoke. "You'll be happy to hear that celibacy will not be a problem for your future life."

Eleanor looked utterly devastated. "What?" was the only thing she could say.

"Lord Joseph is Lady Josephine," Richard clarified. He pulled another chair up to the table and sat down to start eating. Through a mouthful of bread and egg he asked: "You not hungry, Eddy?"

"Now that you mention it..." Eddy mumbled. He'd mostly been staring at the table.

"Eat, before you die of starvation in my castle," Blackthorne told him. "Lady Eleanor, will you join us?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I have to be at Leland castle for breakfast. I'm too late already." She got up to take her leave. She was sure that it would take some time before the fact that the man she had almost fallen in love with was actually supposed to be a woman had sunken in completely.

Richard's eyes caught those of his sister. "Don't tell father where I am!" he cautioned. "I have no idea how you found me, but I don't want father or Cedric repeating that stunt!"

Eleanor felt uncomfortable under his stare. "I won't tell him." she promised. "Can I come to visit?"

"You'll come anyway, won't you?" Richard replied. He knew his sister well enough.

Blackthorne looked like she had just accepted that the end of the world had come.

 

Richard led two horses from the stables and stood beside them in the courtyard until Blackthorne and Eddy had finished preparing the cart. Then he tossed Blackthorne the reins of one of his horses before mounting the other himself. Eddy climbed onto the cart to drive.

Blackthorne had started with winter food stores for one person. She had added to them when Richard had moved into the ruins. Now she had another man to feed, and one that seemed to be capable of devouring vast amounts of food.

"I'll earn my keep," Eddy had promised. Up to now, he had not done much besides eating, bathing and shaving. He was wearing some of the clothes Richard had brought from Covington Cross, and he kept touching his chin with one hand, as if he had worn the beard for so long that he felt incomplete without it. He hoped that shaving his beard and cutting his hair would alter his appearance enough so he would not be recognized in one of the villages. He could not blame Blackthorne for not wanting him in her castle with no one to keep an eye on him. They had only met this very morning, after all.

Richard kept shooting glances at Eddy throughout the ride to the market. Something about the man seemed familiar to him, but he could not quite place it. Blackthorne had agreed to let him take one of the partially trained horses, a black mare that was rather beautiful to look at and always eager to please. She was almost heavy enough to count as a warhorse.

Blackthorne herself had taken a golden gelding that needed to get out the stable. The color was the only remarkable thing about that horse. She had mentioned that he had been one of the first golden horses her attempts at recreating the golden breed had produced, but he completely lacked the spirit and stamina horses like Darkmoon and Spirit had.

They reached the market in good time. Blackthorne lost no time, leaving Richard and Eddy to tend to the horses, while she picked out those stalls she usually bought from. She was not quite sure if the rest of her savings would bring all three of them through the winter, but she had to try anyway. She was not ready yet to give one of her golden horses to anyone but John Mullens' sworn enemies.

She was just in the middle of negotiating prices, when someone grabbed her by the shoulder. Whirling around, she faced Eddy.

"Shouldn't you be with the horses?" she hissed.

Eddy fidgeted. "There's someone who wants to talk to you." He said. "The Earl."

Blackthorne stared at Eddy. "What does he want?" she asked.

With a shrug, Eddy answered. "I believe his daughter fell in love with your horse."

Giving the vendor a stern look, Blackthorne told him: "I'll be back!" and turned to follow Eddy.

The man had not exaggerated. The Earl and his daughter stood next to Richard, the girl hardly able to take her hands and eyes off of the golden gelding.

"Joseph, my boy!" the Earl greeted Blackthorne when she came into sight.

She inclined her head slightly to indicate a bow. "My Lord Earl," she said. "How can I serve you?"

The man looked fondly at his daughter before answering. "Looks like young Mary has taken a liking to your horse, Joseph." He announced. "I would like to buy it for her."

"Father!" the girl called out happily, as if she had not expected him to go through with it.

"Begging your pardon, My Lord, he's not for sale." Blackthorne refused flatly.

Mary, a girl of about 14 years, ignored Blackthorne's statement. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Darling." Blackthorne answered.

The girl clapped her hands in delight. "Father, I want this horse! He's so beautiful! And such a nice name, too! I want him!"

The Earl looked at Blackthorne, obviously thinking rapidly. He was not the kind of man who pressured his subjects into doing things. Blackthorne was not even technically his subject. He had no idea where the woman and her son had come from when they had moved into the castle ruins, but he knew they were outlaws. "Come, come, my boy," he said, trying to make his voice sound pacifying, as his daughter forced tears into her eyes. "Everything has its price. Tell me what you want for that horse, and if it is mine to give, you shall have it."

Blackthorne shook her head.

The Earl continued. "Gold? A sword? A small parcel of land to call your own? What is it that you want most in this world?"

Blackthorne's eyes sparkled suddenly, as she met and held the Earl's gaze. "Blackthorne Castle." She said.

"Father!" Mary whined. "Buy that horse for me!"

The Earl looked at his daughter. He was growing impatient. "He's not for sale, Mary," he said, his voice ringing clearly across the courtyard. "Come. We are wasting our time here."

"But father!" The girl repeated. Her voice started to rise.

He took her arm and pulled her away from the golden horse. "Stop acting like a child," he told her. "Come. We will find another horse for you."

"That was stupid," Eddy commented once the Earl was out of earshot.

Blackthorne glared at him. "I'd thank you if you trusted my judgment on these things, 'Eddy'!" She growled before returning to the market.

Something about the way she emphasized his name told Eddy that she had at least some idea that it was not what he was usually called.

 

Richard and Darkmoon raced across the pasture. Instead of slowing down to open the gate, the young man let his horse jump over the fence.

Blackthorne stood on the other side, shaking her head at Richard's antics. "I wouldn't do that if I was you," she told Richard, when he reined Darkmoon in right in front of her. "Your arm won't like it if you fall off during one of your stunts, and I'm really getting tired of patching you up."

Richard favored her with a broad smile. "I never fall off." He claimed.

Blackthorne's eyebrows rose. "You sure?" she asked. "Seems to me I've seen it twice already."

The young man thought it a good time for a change of topic. "Where's Eddy?"

"Mucking out the stables," Blackthorne told him. "You should see that! Honestly, you'd think that man has never done any real work before."

"He probably hasn't, if he's some noble's son." Richard mused. His eyes came to rest on something behind Blackthorne's left shoulder. "You're getting a visitor"

"It's getting too busy here for my taste," Blackthorne muttered, turning around and forcing a smile on her face when she saw the newcomer. "My lord Earl. What brings you here?"

The Earl stopped his horse when its nose almost touched Blackthorne. Without dismounting, he thrust a piece of folded, sealed parchment at her.

"What's that?" she asked, taking it from him.

He waited without saying a word while she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

She blocked Richard's view of the writing on it, and she kept her face unreadable. He wondered if it was good news or bad. What if it said they had to leave the Earl's grounds? No, he would hardly come to deliver that kind of letter himself, would he?

Carefully, Blackthorne refolded the parchment and put it in a pocket. She nodded to the Earl. "Just a moment."

She disappeared in the direction of the stables, calling out for Eddy.

The Earl looked at Richard for a long moment. "Aren't you Lord Grey's son?" he wanted to know.

Richard shook his head. "I'm Lord Grey's brother," he corrected. "And the son of Sir Thomas Grey, husband to Lady Elizabeth Leland."

The Earl's eyes roved over what was left of Blackthorne castle. "Even in ruins, this castle is bigger than my own," he muttered. He suddenly seemed to have forgotten that Richard was there. "I should have had it all pulled down while I still had the chance."

Just then, Blackthorne came into sight again, leading Darling behind her. The gelding wore the best bridle and saddle Blackthorne owned. She held the reins out to the Earl, who took them and turned his horse with a short "Good day."

"Well," Eddy, who had followed Blackthorne over from the stables, said. "It looks like he was right. Everything has its price. What was Darling's?"

Blackthorne held the parchment out for him to read. Eddy's eyes grew huge.

Richard considered dismounting to get a look at the parchment himself. "What is it?" he wanted to know.

A grin spreading over her face, Blackthorne looked up at him. "Blackthorne Castle." She said. "The deed to the Castle and its grounds."

"He overpaid you!" Richard blurted out.

For a moment, the coldness was back in Blackthorne's dark blue eyes. "Mary Earlcastle is the most spoiled girl in all of England." She stated. "He does everything she wants – to make up for the early death of her mother, I guess. I could have asked for a workforce to repair the castle for me, and I would have gotten it."

When Blackthorne had disappeared through the door to bring the deed inside, Eddy looked at Richard thoughtfully. "She's ruthless." He noticed.

"She has her reasons." Richard answered coldly. "If it had not been for an act of treachery, the Blackthornes would still be Earl here." He turned Darkmoon towards the stable and urged him forward, leaving behind a rather confused Eddy.

"She's a Blackthorne?"

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah

 


	13. Spring

Winter came early and brought bitter cold and far too much snow. The river had frozen solid, and Blackthorne had found skates somewhere. Richard had not skated since he had been a boy, but he found that he did not need much time to get used to it again. Eddy, however, had never tried before, and he preferred not to try it now.

They were all three using one of the unused rooms without a leaking roof to practice fencing and hand to hand combat. Richard soon found out that Eddy must have trained with a true master of the sword. The man was his equal, if not superior.

Right now, the three of them were sitting in the Great Hall – the real one. Once Blackthorne held the deed to the castle in her hands, she had stopped insisting on the neglected and ruined appearance. She was Lord of the castle in her own right now, and no one had the right to stop her from living in it.

Most of the buildings were too badly damaged by years of neglect to use them, but whoever entered by the main entrance door found himself now in the kind of room most castles had in this place: A big hall with a fireplace that kept the room warm even in cold winter nights and a table that was big enough to accommodate a normal household. Blackthorne had brought the rugs and tapestries from her former "great hall" downstairs and replaced the things that had spent the last 26 years decaying slowly.

Blackthorne needed the whole table for herself. She had spread plans and drawings of the castle and the grounds on it, and was busy scribbling notes and calculations. Renovation work was supposed to begin as soon as the weather improved in spring. That was, if she had the money to pay for the workers.

Richard and Eddy had retreated into a corner of the room, close to the hearth. The younger man was busy trying to teach the older one how to mend tack. It was not that Eddy did not want to work. He just acted as if he had never had to do anything by himself ever before. A lazy desk knight, Richard would have thought if Eddy had not won two out of three fencing matches.

The door opened and a sharp gust of cold wind blew into the room.

Blackthorne cursed the fashion that made people build their castle's main room right inside of the main entrance, and grabbed for the drawings that were floating off the table.

"Shut that door!" She hissed without looking at the newcomer.

"I'm sorry!" Eleanor Grey's voice answered.

Blackthorne sighed. Eleanor visited as often as she could get away from Leonore Leland.

"Dear sister," Richard greeted her happily. "Now that you're here, I'm sure you won't mind introducing your dearest to the art of mending leather." He put away his tools and got up to walk over to Blackthorne while Eleanor took his place at Eddy's side.

Richard had caught the two kissing in a still unused part of the castle several weeks ago, and they had not even tried to deny anything.  
"Just tell father before he tries to marry you off to someone else," Richard had advised his sister.

"What do you think father would say if I told him I want to marry some runaway?" Eleanor had returned.

Richard had laughed. "The same as when I'll tell him I intend to marry Armus' ghost."

Now Richard stood behind Blackthorne, watching her sketch a design on a piece of parchment. "I like that," he told her.

His breath felt hot against her neck. Blackthorne shook her head distractedly. "Stop that," she told him, though her tone suggested that she did not mean it. "I can't think when you're doing that."

Richard moved even closer.

Blackthorne leaned back against him, turning until he could kiss her without breaking his neck.

Just then the door burst open again, and a flurry of snow entered, together with a number of curses.

Blackthorne and Richard separated. The lady of the castle ran to the door and grabbed for whoever was standing outside to pull him in before slamming the door shut.

"I didn't think the wind was that strong," the stranger muttered as an apology. "It just ripped the door out of my hand."

Backing up a step, Blackthorne eyed the stranger suspiciously. He was hardly more than a boy, sixteen or seventeen at the most. Handsome for his age, that much was visible even under the heavy fur cloak he wore. The wind had pushed the hood off his head. Snow was melting in his black hair.

"Cedric!" Eleanor and Richard yelled at the same time. "What are you doing here?"

Cedric studied the floor, where puddles started forming around his boots. "I was curious about where Eleanor disappears to whenever she manages to escape our dear stepsister." He admitted. "So I followed her. I don't like Adam any more than she likes Leonore. What's Richard doing here?"

Eleanor put her face in her hands, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. Eddy looked as if he was enjoying himself immensely.

Richard stared at his youngest brother. "I happen to live here." He said, anger clear in his voice.

"Does father know?" Cedric asked with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

"No!" Richard yelled. "And you're not going to tell him either, or I'll know why!"

The youngest Grey ducked his head again. "All right, all right," he said. "I won't tell. Who are they?"

Richard took a deep breath. "Lady Josephine Blackthorne, owner of this castle, and Eddy." He introduced them.

"Who's who?" Cedric wanted to know.

His older brother stepped up to Blackthorne, who put an arm around him to pull him closer. The risk of villagers needing help had increased when winter had set in. She never dared dress in anything that might give away her real sex at the moment. "I'm Blackthorne," she said. "That's Eddy."

Cedric frowned. "I've seen you before," he said. "At parties. You used to dance with Eleanor!"

A burst of laughter came from Eddy. Eleanor silenced him with a kiss.

"Don't you want to take off your cloak, kid?" Blackthorne asked, ignoring his statement. "You must be sweating under all that fur."

Glowering at her, Cedric obeyed. "Don't call me kid!" he warned her.

"In my castle I call people whatever I like. Right, handsome?" Blackthorne said, looking at Richard.

Richard nodded. "So she does," he agreed.

Cedric laid his cloak out by the fireplace to dry it, and turned back just in time to see that Richard and Blackthorne were, too, kissing.

 

"I wonder how Richard is doing," Thomas confessed to his wife.

They were sitting in the Great Hall of Leland Castle together, enjoying a quiet evening.

"I'm sure he's just fine," Elizabeth tried to calm her husband. "He would have come to us by now if he wasn't."

Thomas shook his head. "I don't know." He said. "Elizabeth, I know this sounds stupid, but I swear, he was wearing Jonathan Blackthorne's clothes to that party last fall. Remember? The first one after we were married. And on every one since then, for that matter."

Elizabeth nodded. She remembered. She had also noticed that Richard had been dressed in magnificent silk and velvet clothing on every party he had attended in the meantime. And while the green silk things he had worn that first time were clearly borrowed, everything he'd worn since had looked like it had been made for him. "Why don't you ask him next time you see him?" Elizabeth suggested.

"I tried that," Thomas answered "He won't tell me where he got them. A friend, is all he'll say."

"Thomas, Richard is old enough to lead his own life." Elizabeth repeated once again. "I'm more worried about Eleanor and Cedric. They don't seem to be getting on too well with my children."

Thomas looked at Elizabeth, clearly not understanding the problem. "Have they fought?" he asked.

"No." Elizabeth admitted. "But they seem to avoid each other. Eleanor has taken to riding out at the most impossible times, as if she would try to make sure Leonore won't be there to accompany her. Cedric has also started to disappear without a trace."

Thomas smiled at his wife fondly. He loved the way she was concerned for his children as much as for her own. "I'm sure there's a perfectly harmless explanation for that." he said. "Cedric probably has just fallen in love with some girl from the village and does not want us to know. And I was hoping that Leonore would help interest Eleanor for more ladylike things."

"Funny," Elizabeth answered. "I was hoping Eleanor might teach Leonore a bit more self-reliance."

 

"If we repair the stables first, to have more space for new horses, and if you'll agree to marry me, I could bring Darkmoon's foals here as soon as they're weaned. My father owes me at least half of them." Richard suggested.

"Does that sound like blackmail to me?" Blackthorne asked with a grin.

"Not at all," Richard claimed, moving in for another kiss. Trying to make plans with both of them standing close enough to each other to touch was slow business. They kept interrupting their work.

A gust of cold wind swept through the hall, followed closely by a door slamming shut.

Suddenly, Blackthorne pushed Richard back. "Absolutely not!" she yelled.

Richard looked confused. What had he done wrong now?

"Cedric!" Blackthorne went on. "What do you think you're doing there?"

Cedric? Since when did she call him-- Then it dawned on him. She was talking to someone behind him. Someone who had just entered the door. Cedric.

Richard turned to stare at his younger brother, who had just entered leading a young girl.

"I thought this place would be safe!" Cedric defended himself. "Neither father nor Mullens will see us here."

"I see you!" Blackthorne roared. "And I see John Mullens' daughter on my grounds. Something that I do not care to see again. Find another place for yourselves, children. Now!"

"But--" Cedric started to say.

"Do as she says, little brother," Richard told him sternly. "You should have asked before bringing someone else here anyway. And Alexandra Mullens! Can't you think at all?"

Cedric tried to stare his older brother down. "Why should the daughter pay for the sins of the father – or the grandfather?" he asked. He knew that Blackthorne was a descendant from those Blackthornes who had once lived here. He also knew that John Mullens' father had had a substantial part in the raid on Blackthorne castle. Apart from that, he had no idea of what other reasons Blackthorne might have to hate Mullens and his family.

Cedric's eyes were now fixed pleadingly on Blackthorne. "Alexandra is not like her father! And she won't tell him anything that happens here. Will you, Alexandra?"

"No, of course not," Alexandra whispered. The girl had already retreated to the door, ready to bolt if Blackthorne as much as stepped in her direction.

Blackthorne looked from Cedric to Alexandra and back. Yes, the girl looked harmless enough. How bad could it be to allow her to join their little group? If Blackthorne castle was rebuilt, there would have to be parties, and Mullens would come anyway. Besides, the girl was obviously in love with a Grey. "Just don't get in my way," she muttered finally, returning to the table with Richard.

 

Sir Thomas Grey and his wife used one of the first days of spring for a ride. Thomas had taken a charger from Elizabeth's stables, while she rode the golden palfrey Richard had given her. Thomas caught himself smiling at the thought that in a few weeks he might be the owner of various golden foals, maybe even one from his warhorse Snowflake. It had been years since he had trained a horse himself, but he felt he would like doing it again. Richard and Eleanor had done that kind of work for the last years.

Thinking of his children reminded him of the talk he had had with Elizabeth during the winter. She had been right. Eleanor and Cedric disappeared from the castle more often than not, if the weather allowed. If he asked them where they went, their answers were vague and elusive at best. Riding. Down to the village. Along the river. The forest.

Thomas and Elizabeth followed the road leading away from Elizabeth's grounds. They enjoyed the mild weather, snow melting almost under their eyes.

Without thinking about it, they turned their horses into the direction where Blackthorne castle had lain. Thomas wondered what he expected to find there. Ghosts?

He had had a heated discussion with Armus just a few days ago. The boy swore he had heard tell of the specter of Jonathan Blackthorne walking among men again.

The forests around Blackthorne castle showed all signs of long neglect. The road was hardly fit to bear that name. No wood had been cut here in over 25 years. Peasants and workmen were too afraid of the ghosts to get near the ruined castle.

Suddenly, Thomas reined in his horse.

Elizabeth turned back. "What is it?" she asked.

Listening intently for a moment, Thomas shook his head. "I thought, I heard... voices." He admitted, laughing nervously. "Looks like those ghost stories are starting to get to me, as well."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "Well, then let's go and see if there are any. It's rather exciting, don't you think?"

Grinning like a man twenty years younger than he was, Thomas urged his horse forward. "Yes," he agreed. "Let's go ghost-hunting. Blackthorne village used to be that way!"

The two riders reached the village at a brisk trot. Thomas' eyes widened in surprise, and he pulled on the reins to stop his horse a few steps into the clearing.

He had expected to find the rotted remains of a few hovels, inhabited only by the animals of the forests – and maybe a few ghosts.

Now he found himself on a freshly cut clearing, people busily building and rebuilding huts with the wood. For a second, he thought he had glimpsed a familiar face with long, light blonde hair. He shook his head. Certainly no one from his village at Covington would be here.

"Thomas, look!" Elizabeth's voice cut through his thoughts.

Obediently, Thomas followed her outstretched hand with his eyes, and grimaced, when he saw the figure standing in the half finished roof of a hut, helping with the thatching. He would know those unruly dark blonde curls anywhere.

He guided his horse over to the hut in question.

"Richard!" He yelled.

"Excuse me," he heard his son's voice, though for a moment he was not sure if he was talking to him or the people he worked with.

Then the young man jumped down to the ground, and came over to his father, combing back his hair with one hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Thomas demanded, staring down on his second son. "You're not a thatcher!"

"I'm only helping!" Richard defended himself. "Tournaments won't start for another few weeks, and I need something to do. Is there anything better than giving the people on the lands of my lord a hand?"

"Who is your lord?" Thomas asked, the tone of his voice not permitting anything but a direct answer.

Richard looked across the slowly forming village, obviously trying to find someone. Finally, his eyes came to rest on a figure who was working among the others. He pointed. "There," he said. Then he called: "Blackthorne!"

The figure lifted its head, and, deciding that the matter at hand was not an urgent one, sauntered over. "Problem, handsome?" Blackthorne asked.

Richard shook his head. "No, not at all." He assured her. "I'd just like you to meet my father, Sir Thomas Grey. Father, this is Josephine Blackthorne."

Thomas stared at a woman dressed in men's clothes, her hair cut shorter than his son's, although it was obviously just in the process of growing out as the uneven length indicated. Sir Thomas noticed that both the woman and his son wore the Blackthorne seal stamped into the leather of their jerkins.

"Are you related to Jonathan Blackthorne?" Thomas wanted to know.

Blackthorne nodded. "He was my mother's brother."

"What are you planning on doing with my son?" Thomas could not stop himself from asking. Something in the way Richard looked at the woman was familiar to him. He had seen that kind of look only twice before in his son's eyes.

"Marry him." Blackthorne answered calmly. "Next autumn, when our castle is in ..." She hesitated. "Better shape."

 

Blackthorne entered the Great Hall alone. Richard and Eddy were still working in the village, but she had to make up her mind about the upcoming horse fair. Which horses from her stable would she sell? How many would she buy? How much money did she need to go through with her plans for rebuilding the castle, and to pay for a small staff – a cook, one or two serving maids, a stablehand. Eddy would not stay forever. She was surprised that he had not long lost interest in playing the runaway noble. Then again, the man was hopelessly in love with Eleanor.

Alexandra Mullens stood at the table, nervously fingering a dagger Blackthorne had left there. She did not look up when the Lady of the castle entered.

Blackthorne unsheathed the dagger she carried at her belt, and moved silently up to the girl.

A small scream escaped Alexandra when she felt the cold steel at her throat.

"Don't play with weapons if you don't know how to use them." Blackthorne warned her, plucking the dagger from the girl's unresisting fingers. "Though it'd do a lady good to know how to defend herself. Women have been killed, and men have forced themselves upon women before."

"It's not decent for a lady to use a weapon," Alexandra muttered. Blackthorne always made her nervous. The woman dressed, spoke and walked like a man. She could ride better than and fence almost as good as Richard Grey. She also seemed to be utterly fearless.

"Suit yourself." She said. "And pray that no one will decide he wants the girl that belongs to your pretty face for a night or two."

Alexandra shuddered at the thought. She had been raised in a convent. She had heard her fill of horror stories about men who made women do horrible things.

"I have no one to teach me." Alexandra said finally, praying that her voice sounded more secure than she felt.

Blackthorne laughed drily. "There." She said, holding the dagger out to the younger woman. "Take it. Properly. You're holding it as if you're afraid to touch it."

Alexandra was, but she made herself mirror Blackthorne's grip on the dagger's hilt.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	14. Of Servants and Princes

The first horse fair of the season had been a success for Blackthorne. She had sold a few good racing horses of various colors, as well as a golden gelding that had, due to its color and the Blackthorne brand, brought as much money as any two or three of the others.

There was space in the stables now, waiting to be filled with Darkmoon's offspring later that year. Much of the money she had made at the fair and on the first races of the year went into the rebuilding of the castle.

Richard's 23rd birthday was only a few days after the castle had reached the point where one could actually entertain guests there. The masons and carpenters were still more than busy on the best part of the main building, and none of the others had even been touched, but they had enough space to hold a celebration. Work was interrupted for a week and invitations were issued.

For the first time since she had left Mullens' castle with her mother, Josephine Blackthorne appeared in public wearing female clothes. She and Richard were dressed up in matching green and black silk, the Blackthorne crest stamped into every leather piece they wore.

The cooks they had hired were trying hard to impress their masters with their skills. One of them would be allowed to stay on after the celebration.

Those men and women who were serving the guests were on their best behavior for a similar reason. Among them, Eddy prowled the room, refilling glasses and serving food.

Thomas and Elizabeth Grey were among the first guests. They entered the Great Hall accompanied by Eleanor and Cedric as well as Adam and Leonore.

"Excuse me." Richard said, disentangling himself from the group of young men he'd been talking to. He walked over to meet his father, hands outstretched to greet him.

"Happy birthday, my son," Thomas said with a broad grin, pulling Richard into a short embrace before handing him over to Eleanor and Cedric.

"Thank you, everybody," Richard said, when they finally let go of him. "Thank you for the present as well!"

It had arrived earlier that day: A richly adorned saddle and bridle for Darkmoon, made of the finest leather. It must have cost a small fortune, and Richard could hardly wait to ride Darkmoon to town with it. The stallion would look splendid – and so would his rider.

"Did you invite Armus?" Thomas asked quietly.

Richard nodded. "I don't think he'll come, though."

"We'll see." Thomas said thoughtfully. He was not quite sure of it himself.

 

"What a beautiful place you've turned this castle into, Lady Blackthorne," Elizabeth told Blackthorne a few minutes later, when they happened to meet.

Blackthorne smiled. "Call me Josephine if you don't mind." She offered. "We are going to be family, after all."

Elizabeth returned the smile. "You're right." She decided. "Is the engagement official yet?"

The black-haired woman shook her head slightly. "We hope to make it official tonight. There are certainly enough guests here. Some of them even without an invitation."

She was right. Many nobles from the surrounding lands and castles had come to have a look at the newly renovated Blackthorne castle and its inhabitants. Some of them had definitely not been invited – such as John Mullens.

Cedric had disappeared from the Great Hall.

So had Alexandra. Blackthorne grinned despite herself when she imagined what the two were probably up to.

Then she glanced to where John Mullens stood, and their eyes met for an instant.

Unbelieving surprise appeared on the Baron's face when he saw the woman for the first time. That had to be the person who had declared herself Lady of this castle. The girl who claimed to be a Blackthorne.

And she was!

Dressed up as she was, she was the very image of her mother. Her hair was not quite as long as Claire's had been, but everything else about her was exactly as Mullens remembered it.

Well, maybe not everything.

This woman met his eyes squarely, returning the stare with a cold hatred only a Mullens was capable of.

So that woman had survived after all, to raise her daughter – HIS daughter – in secret.

Did she know who her father was? Probably, the way she looked at him.

Mullens walked over to her.

"Josephine." He said quietly, but with a cutting edge to his voice.

Blackthorne looked at him disdainfully. "I can't remember allowing you to address me on a first name basis, _Baron Mullens._ " Her voice was icy.

"Maybe you're not aware of who I am," Mullens said quickly, keeping his voice down and reaching out to grab her by the arm.

"You abducted, raped and imprisoned my mother," she answered, disgust plain on her face. "I am very well _aware_ of who you are. And now, _sire,_ remove your hand from my arm before I cut it off." She flicked her free wrist, and a slender blade slid out of her sleeve and into her hand.

Mullens obeyed. "This is not the end of it." He warned Blackthorne.

She stared after him when he left to mingle with the guests. Then, replacing the dagger where she wore it hidden beneath the wide sleeves of her dress, she muttered: "I certainly hope not."

 

Thomas emptied his glass, and held it out to one of the servants to have it refilled.

"At once, Sir." The man said, pouring wine into it.

Thomas looked him over. He was dressed in the same somber brown as the other servants. His hair was cut short, his face clean shaven, but-- Suddenly Thomas' hand trembled on the glass.

"What in the name of the King do you think you're doing there?" He blurted out.

The servant looked at him, trying to seem confused. "Excuse me?" He said timidly, "Did I do something wrong, sir?"

"Do something wrong?" Thomas' voice broke on the last word. "What are you—Why are you here—dressed like that—serving wine and--"

"I'm but a servant," the man answered. "Eddy's my name."

Thomas stared at him. "We both know you're not a servant! You father is searching the whole realm for you! Did you never stop to think what you'd do to him, disappearing like--" He stopped himself, looking at Eddy with desperation. "I apologize. It's not my place to--"

Eddy interrupted him. "Never mind." He said. "Do me the favor, and treat me like any of the servants, even if you don't believe that I am one. And _stop_ looking like you're just about to drop to your knees, Mylord, please! It would be very improper for you to kneel before a serving man."

Sir Thomas grabbed the man and pulled him into a corner. "Treat you like any of the servants?" he hissed. "If you were one of my servants, or the son of one of my servants, I'd have you flogged for the scare you gave your father!"

Eddy looked chagrined. "Mylord," he said. "Play along tonight, and I'll promise I'll return by the end of the week. Just don't tell anyone just yet!"

Thomas looked like he was going to reply, but he thought better of it. Instead he nodded. "Agreed."

 

Two days later, life at Blackthorne castle was back to normal. Workforces were moving in and out of the more or less finished portions of the buildings. Blackthorne spent most of her time supervising the masons, and Richard spent most of his time in the stables. Cedric and Alexandra came to watch the work and steal a few quiet hours with each other. Eddy was usually subdued since the party, but he did his work as well as ever.

Hoofbeats of the cobblestones made Blackthorne turn around.

Habit made her bow before she remembered that women were supposed to curtsey, but, as she was wearing men's clothes again, the bow was more suitable anyway. The small group of riders who had just entered her courtyard was led by no one lesser than King Edward.

"How have I merited the honor of your visit, my King?" Blackthorne asked when Edward dismounted.

The King smiled at her. "Lady Blackthorne," he said, clasping her hand before she could move back. "Actually, I've come to have a word with your..." he looked around and spotted Eddy., who was just carrying a bale of hay towards the stables. "Stableboy."

A crooked smile appeared on Blackthorne's face. She straightened herself. "Eddy!" she yelled. This had to happen one day. She could only hope the king would not be angry enough to take the castle from her again.

Eddy turned, recognized the visitor, and dropped his load.

Wearing dirty workclothes, his appearance utterly disheveled, hay sticking in his hair, Eddy faced the King. He kept his head high and his face defiant.

"Do you have nothing to say?" The King asked him. His voice betrayed nothing.

Eddys voice was steady as he answered. "I will not marry Joan of Kent." he declared.

King Edward favored his son with a long, intense look. "Will you marry someone else, then?" He wanted to know.

He received his answer in the form of a short nod.

"I trust she's not a serving wench?"

Eddy grinned, shaking his head. "No, Sir." He promised. "She is not."

"Get your horse, Edward." The king ordered. "I would like to reach Windsor before nightfall."

The grin vanished from Eddy's face. "I can't." For the first time, he looked at his boots rather than at his father. "It was stolen."

Blackthorne felt like waking from a dream. "Take one from my stables." She offered.

Eddy smiled at her gratefully. "Thanks!" he called, already racing off towards them.

 

Eleanor had hardly left her room during the last week. Eddy had disappeared. Blackthorne had told her that his father had come to get him. How he had found out where his wayward son was hiding, Eleanor had no idea. Maybe one of the guests had recognized him at Richard's birthday party. Blackthorne and Richard refused to tell her who his father was.

She went to her window and looked out over the courtyard. She missed Covington Cross. She missed Eddy.

A group of riders came into view.

Eleanor watched them ride into the courtyard. One of the horses, a high spirited bay, reminded her very much of a horse Blackthorne had had. Its rider looked like...

That WAS Eddy!

With a shout of glee, Eleanor raced out of the door and down the steps, where she promptly ran into Leonore.

"Eleanor!" The other girl reproached her. "It does not do for a lady to be running around like that! And you're wearing those awful breeches again! Have you no sense of decency at all?"

 

Sir Thomas came into the courtyard, and found himself facing his king.

He dropped to one knee before him.

"Rise, Thomas!" King Edward ordered, reaching out one hand to pull his friend to his feet again. "Can we go inside? We have important things to discuss."

Thomas nodded. "Of course." he said, stepping aside to let the King enter the castle first.

"Thomas," the king began slowly, sounding as if he did not know how to phrase whatever he was going to say. "Have you found a husband for your daughter yet?"

What was he aiming at? Was he trying to remind Thomas that most girls Eleanor's age were already married, and that he was indulging his daughter too much? Hell, he knew that! And it was hardly a reason for the King to come to Leland castle, was it? "No." Sir Thomas admitted. "I do not want to force a man on her that she does not agree with."

"But you'd agree to let her marry a man of her choice?" The King prompted.

Thomas nodded. "Well, maybe not if he was a stablehand or--"

"A knight. Will you let her marry a knight?" King Edward asked. "That is, I will order you to let her marry this knight if I have to, but I'd much rather you agreed."

A strange look came across Thomas' face. "What knight are you talking about?" he asked carefully.

 

By the time Eleanor had finally managed to get away from Leonore, Eddy was the only one remaining in the courtyard.

She ran towards him, throwing her arms around her lover and drawing him close. "Eddy!" She called.

He returned the embrace until she had trouble breathing. "Eleanor!"

A second later, they were kissing.

They did not even notice when King Edward and Sir Thomas left the castle again, and stopped right in front of the door. Thomas stared at his daughter and the crown prince. "Looks like she agrees." he said finally.

King Edward laughed and clapped his hands. "Children!" He shouted across the courtyard. "Consider yourselves engaged!"

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


	15. The END

"Inside! Hurry!" Cedric urged Alexandra. They had been sitting in the sun on a bench in Blackthorne's gardens, when they had spotted Mullens' black steed racing towards them at the head of a small company.

They knew they were in for trouble if Mullens caught them here together.

Baron John Mullens dismounted and handed his horse's reins over to one of his men.

"Blackthorne!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "Josephine!"

Only a few seconds passed before both Blackthorne and Richard appeared from opposite directions.

"What is it, Mullens?" Blackthorne asked, her voice dripping with hatred.

Mullens' men formed a half circle, blocking the road that led away from the castle.

"Your uncle paid dearly for his stubbornness." Mullens said, staring at his oldest daughter. "Don't make the same mistake he made!"

"If you're trying to buy a horse from me – forget it!" Blackthorne hissed.

Mullens' hand moved towards his sword. "I am your father, Josephine." He said though ground teeth. "Don't you think you owe me a little respect?"

She laughed. It was a dry, mirthless sound. "You may have sired me when you raped my mother, Mullens, but I will definitely not call you father."

"Be that as it may," Mullens began.

A stifled gasp from the direction of the castle made them turn their heads.

Alexandra stood just inside the doorway, hands pressed to her mouth, sobbing silently.

"Are you trying to corrupt Alexandra as well now?!" Mullens yelled. "Get her!" He ordered one of his men, who jumped off his horse and crossed to courtyard to seize the girl.

"As for you--" Mullens stared at his older daughter for a moment. Then he coldly drew his sword. "Seems like you will meet the same fate your dear uncle did!"

Blackthorne's sword was in her hand before she knew it. She blocked the first strike easily. Richard's lessons paid off well.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Richard was fighting two of Mullens' men at once.

A cry came from the direction of the castle, but it was not Alexandra's voice.

The girl had remembered both the dagger inside her sleeve and Blackthorne's lessons at using it. The man who had grabbed her lay by her feet, dying.

Cedric came rushing out of the castle, naked sword in his hand, ready to enter the fight on Blackthorne's side.

Blackthorne had spent most of the winter practicing swordfighting, but Mullens had the advantage of lifelong training. She kept herself well, but she knew she was losing ground.

Richard had dispatched one of his attackers and was wearing the other one down. Cedric was trading blows with the remaining one of Mullens' companions.

Alexandra stood by the castle, leaning against the doorframe, her huge eyes brimming with tears.

Just when Blackthorne feared that it would not be long until Mullens managed to deliver a deadly strike, voices and hoofbeats rang across the courtyard. Richard's and Cedric's attackers froze, dropping their swords.

"John Mullens!" A commanding voice thundered.

Mullens never stopped his attack on Blackthorne.

She was so busy defending herself that she hardly noticed the men rushing towards her until they grabbed Mullens on both sides and pulled him away.

Sweating, breathing heavily, she looked up to face the King for the second time. She dropped to one knee, and Richard and Cedric followed suit.

"My lord King," she whispered.

King Edward was thinking at light speed. Here he had the proof that Thomas had been right in distrusting Mullens. It did not take much imagination to come to the conclusion that he had come to finish what his father had begun 27 years ago. "John Mullens." he growled. "I hereby strip you of your titles and lands! You are no longer Baron of his Shire! Take him away!"

"Father!" Alexandra screamed, starting to run after him when the King's men tied Mullens' hands and manhandled him to one of the horses.

The King caught her when she ran by him. "Don't, girl," he cautioned. "He'll spend the rest of his life in my dungeon. He's not deserved anything else. Would you join him there?"

Cedric got to his feet and stared at his king. "Leave her be!" he called out, forgetting completely who he was talking to. "She's not responsible for her father's actions!"

"Cedric!" Sir Thomas' voice called from somewhere in the company.

Edward smiled benevolently at the boy. "So be it." He said, turning Alexandra into Cedric's direction. "You seem to like the girl. Then you shall be responsible for her – and for righting the wrongs her father has wrought."

Cedric put his arms around Alexandra, pulling her close, his eyes never leaving King Edward. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I think he just declared you the next Baron Mullens, Cedric!" Eddy called over.

The youngest Grey turned his head and stared at the sight of Eddy and Eleanor standing beside their horses, holding hands, obviously and openly in love, and Sir Thomas Grey in ceremonial garb, still mounted on a chestnut courser behind them, regarding his youngest son and the latest developments with mixed feelings.

The King turned towards Blackthorne and Richard, who were still kneeling with their heads bowed.

"Now will you rise?" It was an order, not a question. They obeyed, slowly, unsure of what would come. "Duchess and Duke Blackthorne – how does that sound?" The King asked.

"It sounds..." Blackthorne was at a loss for words.

Richard stepped behind her, close enough to put an arm around her shoulders, but refraining from doing so. "Too good to be true." He admitted.

"But it is!" That cheerful voice was Eddy's again. "I asked him for it, and he agreed. And your sister will be queen one day, Richard!"

Eleanor made a face as if she had just now realized that marrying Eddy meant just that.

Eddy noticed, and chuckled.

After a moment, newly created and still unofficial Baron, Duke, Duchess and Princess joined in.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


End file.
